It's when I see the rain roll to the edge of the wildflowers with the help of the sun-drenched, springtime breeze that I realize I'm in my secret place--the journey where I catch a piece of mellow oblivion to escape the rush of thoughts,the rush of feelings, the rush of realities that so frequently haunts and vandalizes the tranquility of mind. It's my peace, my opium, my inner-sanctity. I can sit atop my towering precipice and see beyond all that is distorted and misunderstood, to the laughter of the jubilant children playing in the kaleidoscopic, flower-strewn field, oblivious to the decisions and trials that lay before them. It's the place I can avoid the tribulations and inconsistencies that hover above me like the halo to its angel. It's a place I can find myself. A place can be myself. And a place I can elude myself.