I sit curled in the natural armchair
Hugged by curving branches
Hidden by dark green leaves
Shading me from the heat of the blazing sun
Comforted by a gently rustling breeze
Gently swaying the ripening mangoes
Only an arm’s length away
It’s a place of comfort
A hiding place of sorts
A place to relax and dream
To think and comprehend
Listen without being heard
See without being felt
To stay as long as I can
The smell of the ripening mangoes
A pleasurable sensation
A book held lovingly in my hand
Helps me travel to far off lands
To feel, to sense, to understand
Those vivid scenes
Only a gifted writer can create
So I can taste the cold snow flakes
That I have never seen
My armchair
My hiding place,
My dreaming place
Where I find myself
And understand His care
Learn about my creator
For He gave me
My hiding place
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