I found it while I wandered, on a cold day when things were bleak. When I stepped off the lane the sky was clear and crisp, and I had shot maybe three set ups before I looked out and saw the fog rolling in.
That day I stayed for nearly three hours. The ground was damp and spongey as I jumped, over and over again, turning my toes numb, and the bare tree branches clawed at the blank sky like my own fingerbones under taught, ashen skin.
I returned today, angry and sick and humiliated, expecting a landscape which matched my emotions. What I found was a golden seascape, speckled with daisies, and grasses which came came up to my knees. When I walked a little further, a fawn hopped out of the trees and into the barley. She let me photograph her before she bounded away, and a cuckoo bird chirruped as I set up my tripod.
I took photographs and then I lay in the grass and thought about a lot of things. I listened all the way through Cara's album, and then I ran all the way from one end of the field to the other,the grass slashing my legs softly, because I could. The deer returned and I sat down and we watched each other and I didn't want to photograph it, the moment. I took some more photographs and thought about how I wanted to share whatever I had found with someone else, and then decided that I was too young to not be selfish. I thought about Africa. I did handstands and lay in the grass again. Then it felt like time to leave, so I did.
When I got home, Lucy complained that she had texted me and I had missed Doctor Who. Mum complained that I hadn't done any revision today. Dad complained that England weren't winning their football game. I had left at half past five, and it had just turned seven O'clock.
This was not losing track of the time, I thought, this was losing time altogether. I had noticed the sun seemed low as I walked home, but it hadn't occured to me to check my phone. I hadn't thought about how long I had been taking photographs, or listening to Cara, or conversing in my head. For a while I had, unconciously, lived outside of my own life.
And when I left I had simply felt that it was time to leave. There was no moment of horrific realisation, of mygoodness, I need to get home because I have so much to do. Not even a moment in which I realised I was cold, or thirsty, or wanted another dose of paracetamol (all which I decided were true as I stepped through the front door.)
No, when I left it was because something was tapping me, gently, just inside my ribcage. Go home now, it said, It is done.
I think I may have found my favourite place on earth.