The soft earth was warm beneath my bare feet. I could hear my favorite sound in world; the soft rustling of the wind through the grass. I walked slowly down the path on the warm summer day, running my hands along the tops of the grass that always stayed soft and green close to the creek. My favorite oak tree was faithfully waiting for me to lean up against it. My cocker spaniel always walked right behind my feet loyally. I was the king of everything in this meadow and it was a beautiful country indeed. Being nine years old, I didn’t rule with an iron fist. My subjects were the beautiful purple wildflowers, the birds that sang me songs in my court, my dog, and of course the trout that I was always eager to catch with my makeshift fishing pole. No other people ever came into my grove unless I invited them. No government had ownership of it, no army had ever conquered it, and most importantly, it was always summer in my grove. This place was heaven on earth. There was no sadness, no dispute, no rules, and no disappointment. This was a place that I could always escape to, no matter what. Nothing and nobody could follow me here, except my dog. The reason he could come was because like most dogs, he couldn’t talk. He never told me what was wrong with the world, never complained, never gave me advice, he just simply followed my lead and listened intently to me. I never said much in the grove. There wasn’t much to say, because all the residents knew of its obvious beauty and peace. There was no need to say, “My, what a beautiful day!” because everyday is a beautiful day in the grove. The sun never sets, and never goes behind a cloud to prevent the warmth from reaching my face.