It was a peaceful Saturday morning in the village of Fagatogo. The salt from the ocean nearby and our vivacious anticipation filled the air. That morning my friends' s and I journeyed into the forest, to an area I call "my secret place." The sound of the ocean faded as we penetrated deeper into the forest, twelve impatient teenagers meandering over the trail and carefully avoiding the puddles. Ahead, a blanker of mist covered the bush-clad range. The sun was not yet visible over the barrier of trees to our left, and we hoped that a kind shield of clouds would keep it off us while we continued. Hibiscus plants, burdened with scarlet flowers, lined the sides of the track. We also saw wild shrubs, ferns, ti leaves, and aloe plants. Beneath us lay a thick carpet of cacao leaves. We crept slowly and quietly through the virgin bush to give our deepest respect to the luscious green foliage that was all above and around us.
The journey went smoothly through phase one but the worst was just ahead. We
were climbing now, knowing that over the hill lay the luminous brisk and crystal waters of our destination. Sore feet and broken slippers delayed us, but our desire for that "secret place" kept us going. Fearless insect stung our bodies while the ferocious sun gradually pulsated through our heads. Only trickles of our own sweat soothed and cooled our desiccated bodies. A voice behind me muttered, "Are we there yet?" Everyone was silent but I kept the constant tempo as we neared, "the place." I knew "the place" was about 30 minutes away, over some small boulders before us. One step after another we knew that we were almost there, almost in Paradise.
As we reached the boulders, most of us looked up shielding our eyes from the blazing sun with our hands. I noticed that some members in the group remained silent, so I said in an exhausted yet satisfied voice, "Welcome to Paradise." There it was tow of the most beautiful creations that God could have ever made, the beautiful Banyan Tree and beside i
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