In my mind I removed the buildings and noise. Staring at the vanishing point seemed an excellent way to block out other sights, but the presence of people walking the same sidewalk turned me to the ground. I bent my head, looking only at the ground in front of my feet, allowing my thoughts to wander free. I imagined the cement of the sidewalk to evolve to dirt and twigs, surrounded myself with hundreds of tall green trees and replaced the sky with dusk, seeing the golden beams of sunset pierce occasionally between trees, refracting off branches and carrying the colors of the woods.

I was now walking in the forest near my home in Somerset.

Sometimes I spend hours here. No sounds exist here. Words are equally wasteful. Only the bark of the branches carries weight, the only scent stems from the rain-dappled earth. No plastic wrappers or beer cans. The only offenders of littering are the trees, with their twigs and leaves. (How dare they.)

The woods stay the same. No arguments or opinions, only unchanging truth. Winter is the same, only differing as green becomes white, when the contrast of leaves to trunks to sunlight becomes the contrast between ice and bark, lacking in color but fulfilling its duty in striking beauty.

Peaceful pines across a river lined by red oaks. Even Penn State douchebags could be silenced by serenity this severe.

ZZZHHOOOOOM!!!

"Geez Tarik!"

I'm not staring at the vanishing point anymore, the sidewalk ended and I found myself crossing the street, where apparently I almost got hit by a car. My friend comments something on absent-mindedness and thinking too much.

It's worth it.