The day of my brother's graduation party had finally arrived. We prepared all morning by carrying and setting up nearly a dozen tables with stacks upon stacks of chairs. The coolers were then stocked with enough soda, bottled water and beer to fill a pond. Then the food was distributed and each person carried what they could back and forth, again and again. There was enough to feed an army, I joked. A few hours later guests started arriving and I came out of my room to help welcome them. It was a cascade of greetings and congratulations. My front deck, which just a few hours earlier had been an open field, was now so full of people; you could hardly see where the crowd stopped. I felt crushed and cramped, like an extra sardine stuffed into a can that wouldn't close. I wanted the bridge to be back in an open field again, somewhere I could think. An idea came to mind and I ran out of my room. I grabbed my bag, camera, a small notebook, my favorite black pen, a bottle of water, and my phone. Then I found my mother in the middle of the swarm, told her where I was headed and then started walking down the driveway. I passed the numerous vehicles parked along the narrow, winding road. They reminded me of two trains, with each car parked bumper to bumper and the next serving as a separate car, stocked to the brim with coal, wood, paper or whatever. I followed the road up and down the little familiar train. hill that I walk every day going to and from home and work. The train of cars stopped, and my left opened onto a forest of trees, and my right revealed a small swamp. Two more hills later, I saw what I was looking for. It was a path that continued straight ahead of me, instead of cur...... middle of paper ......down onto the planks of the bench with countless initials carved into it by passers-by. I took out my little notebook and flipped through a blank page. I placed it on my lap while I fished the pen out of my bag and uncapped it. I finally looked at the forest as a whole. When I first went up there as a kid, I thought the view was a painting and wondered how anyone could put a canvas down there. When I saw the forest, I saw again an artist's masterpiece, with each pine tree a careful brushstroke. It was even more true that day, with the beautiful open sky shining over the scene. I have never loved a moment more than that. I forgot pen and paper for too long. I simply sat on the bench and watched the clouds move across the sky, casting their shadows on the trees below, listened to the buzz of insects and the hum of cars as they whizzed past my sight.