The ditch in my backyard is a place I like to disappear to almost every day. I grab a book of my bookshelf, slip on a pair of shoes, run down the stairs and run out into the fresh air. The air is slightly cold, but i don't turn around to get a jacket. I'm too impatient, too exited. I was ready to disappear into my world. I run through the woods, going to my reading spot. It was a few moments away. I climbed up a hill of dirt and continue running passed trees, rocks and sand. Until I see a bunch of evergreen leaves bunched up together with fallen trees. My spot was just inside.
I slip under the only tree that's standing and walk a few feet until I'm under branches and leaves. The branches were five-feet above my head so I had to crouch down. I had built a hut from the fallen trees and branches. So a roof was also above my head. A rock was on the other side of my little house, I walked over to it and sat down. I placed my book in my lap and I began to read.
The little house was a place I liked to come to when I wanted to get away from reality. No one could find me because I was covered by the green leaves and fallen trees. I would also bring pen and paper down in the ditch to write stories. Some of them were inspired by the ditch.
There was a creek not far from my little hut, in the summer my brother and I would put on out bathing suites and slash each other. Sometimes in the summer there were baby fish in the water, we'd bring a net and try to catch them.
I shivered from the cold air, then I heard my father's voice calling me home. I looked down at my book and then at my surroundings. I didn't want to leave, I wanted to stay. I wanted to live in the ditch. I shivered again.
Well maybe in the summertime, I thought before I ran home.