Paradise

Some people say that their paradise is a beach.
Yeah, I can see that. Warm, sandy beaches with clear blue water.
Oh, yeah. I could take some beach therapy right now.
                         Others say their paradise is a mountain lodge, engulfed by snow.
                         I can see that, too. Skiing/snowboarding by day,
                         cuddling up in front
                         of a fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate by night.
                          Sounds cozy.
                                          All of that is great.

                                         But my personal paradise is a wooded farm in Chesterfield, Virginia.

                            You may think I'm crazy, since VA is humid and full of bugs,

                                            but nothing beats lying in the grass, soaking in the glorious Southern air.

                                         Ancient trees act as a barricade, blocking the outside world from you.

                   Deer creep across the lawn, savoring the luscious grass.

                                                Birds serenade you as frogs try to ruin the moment. But in reality, the sounds  

                                                of frogs croaking adds depth to the whole effect. At night, the crickets

                             replace the birds. Fireflies dance. It's still humid, but it's worth it.

                                 Virginia woods amaze. They glisten. They inspire.