I am restless and dreaming of open oceans. Searching for spaces unpolluted by the harshness of man.
Poppy-speckled fields in golden sunlight. Unintruded snow, flat and creamy like fresh milk, sprawled out for miles.
In the farthest corners of my mind I can see it - soft and downy, every so often winking with a sparkling glisten. It's so still and so quiet that it almost doesn't seem real. And of all the wonders of this world, the best by far: from above heavy fir trees, the cold, still, air holds more stars than you could ever believe. Little pieces of me ache when I strain my minds eye - childhood stories of owls and bears and deep dark caves hidden by moonlight. Of recognising this feeling that, before, words lacked. Being nine years old and yearning for something more.
The air is clean and cold, in night nothing stirs but the damp patter of life passing by. A stark reminder of how tiny we are in this place. A rock of air and water swinging in momentum of nothingness that blows my mind every time I try to comprehend it.
No clouds or motorway hum. No light pollution giving the air a red smokey haze. Just endlessness that drifts off into the farthest corners of everything I am able to imagine.
At times, the vastness of the world hits me and I feel it make my feet unsteady. Just before darkness when the sky is groaning with the weight of the night.
Beneath it all, though, the same things are true.
It is still best to be honest, to be kind and loving. To make the most of life's simple pleasures. To forgive when people wrong you and to have courage when times are hard.
Really, we're all just wandering this big place, looking for a home.
