My favorite place

My favorite place is in my room. Here I sit at my desk. A warm spring wind blows in through the open window, causing a vase of daisies to nod their heads merrily. A black dog is curled up underneath the windows. Now he wakes and trots over to see what I am doing. Resting his head on my lap, a fit of goofiness seems to overtake him, and he starts rolling around on the floor. I can’t help but laugh at his antics. Suddenly realizing that I am laughing, he flops over on his back, and gives me the goofy look.

Breathing in the warm spring air, I walk to the window. Just outside the window are the boughs of a Japanese maple tree. Its red leaves shade a cluster of yellow and red tulips. I turn back to my writing, fighting the urge to get lost in the pages of one of the books stacked nearby. As I sit down, a little brown dachshund trots into my room. With a gray muzzle, she is affectionately called ‘the bearded lady,’ although her real name is Chicken. Chicken settles down next to Rooster, the black dog. Rooster lazily uses his huge pink tongue to lick his companion’s head. Chicken seems to enjoy this process. Evidently she doesn’t mind getting wet.

I turn on some music and return to crafting a world made of mountains, peasants, and tyrants. With the dogs as my audience, I read out loud what I have written. They don’t seem to mind. Now I turn to my sketchbook in an effort to make the characters come alive. Arrows, cloaks, and horses dance onto the page, and I begin to feel as though I am really there, high in the mountains, on a desperate mission. In my imagination, the white lights hung above my desk transform into brilliant stars above the mountains. Before I know it, it is nearly time for supper...