We’re running up the hill, shrieking with laughter, going to our safe place, our haven. This peaceful, dangerous place leaving us breathless every time. The beautiful, jagged redstone, covered in chives and red clovers. We check to make sure that our names are still written on the wall, ensuring our rule over this mysterious place. The trees and plants are our people. The loud geese flying south, the golden sun sinking down, and the uneven rock jutting out are all part of what we love about this place. Sometimes, we stay there for hours. We climb up the precarious ledges to the tippy top of the quarry, looking down on our empire. We stand, side by side, feeling the wind in our hair. We are at bliss, feeling like we own the world.
Content published in The Crow on medium.com
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