Hiding

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There's a place... a place, in the sun... but with the shade of a tree... a big, old oak tree... it's on a grassy hill, sloping down so far away you can't see it. There are no roads, no buildings to be seen. Just a grassy, sunny place with a big oak tree, under the watch of a blue sky with fluffy clouds. At night, there's fireflies, and the sound of frogs and crickets. The sky is lit by a bright moon and glittering stars. There's always a gentle breeze that rustles the leaves in the tree. On the grassy hill, there are little, light purple flowers, such a light purple that they're almost white. At the edge of that big field the hill is on, there is a forest. The field is surrounded by it, that forest. But always, that place is empty. That place is a million miles away, far away from reach. It may exist, somewhere... but that somewhere is not yet ready to be found. Not found, but not lost. Hiding... right before our eyes.

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