Silver boulder nestled upon the grass,
As the surface collects the sheer sunlight.
This stone retains the warmth which does not last,
While my fingers against the hard stone write.

The rock absorbs cold air upon nighttime,
Adapts to each climate it is within.
Diverse foliage surrounds all which doth chime,
Sounds of nature are to beauty akin.

I rest upon the stone, feeling the air,
A force which grasps like a warm and fond hand.
Sunlight filters through the sparse trees, so fair,
While some music cues in my head, unplanned.

This is my place—solace from all truth,
A place which does ignite my life, my youth.