It's a beautiful morning out. I have felt the need for the past few days to describe and write about my uncle's house. My favorite part of this house was the single room up the backstairs, off of the kitchen--wooden stairs and room with a bright, sunny view on every side--onto the street and the backyard. It also has it's own private bathroom. I often imagined that it was a former slave quarters--and the little secret passageway that connected it to the other set of stairs in the main part of the house was a place where slaves hid, their own private escape. My sister scared the shit out of me once with this passageway. She was always the one to discover the hidden things.... I don't even remember going through the passageway-- I did go into the closet. This beautiful, antebellum-esque structure, even though I believe it wasn't built until the 1920s sparked my imagination and was definitely a place where I could rest,relax, find peace, and ease into my own selfhood and mind. There is nothing better than sitting out in my unc;es garden, in his wooden gazebo surrounded by tall trees that covered the sun, and flowers growing from every limb and out of the ground...It is beautiful and I want to be back there right now. To lie in the middle of his gazebo and feel the air hitting my face and feel my skin get flushed and tingle with the blowing of the wind, with flowers in my hands and books strewn about.....