Across the horizon -- sprawling fields of welcoming, vivid grass and sun-baked trees, gently swaying in the wind.
Towards the other end -- an infinite sea -- its sparkling, still waters inviting me to take a swim, craft a raft, and voyage beyond.
Between them -- sloping mountains, their towering, snow-capped figures imposing into the landscape, but still cajoling me to come and see what could be perched above them.
In front of my feet -- a cobbled pathway, punctuated with rustic lamp posts and well-laid fencing. The posts, ornate and sturdy, were sloppily angled, seemingly from fancy. Still, they held an air of reassurance -- once the sun sets, they quietly say, they'd light and keep me company.
I can see a few hundred yards forward, but this path eventually winds and slopes away from view. The consistency of the daintily angled posts, however, encourage me to continue.
Behind me -- several paths, some well-worn, others dug out, some still cobbled. One lays strewn with dried shrubbery. Another ashen and grayed, as if burnt from eons past. I've forgotten which one I took before reaching this point. Did I even take any of these? Were these paths used by other people before?
Is this path mine?
These paths stretched out behind me, again reaching the endless horizon onto the other side. I pay quiet respect to these walkways as I continue walking forward.
What is this place? I mindlessly ask myself again. I'm not from here.
But I feel welcome.
The gentle wind caresses my hair, the weight on my back strangely feeling lighter. As the sun maintains its warm, afternoon glow, I hear the faint chirping of birds, cooing me to ease my shoulders. The clear sky reflects my weary soul, reminding me to look inward just as well as outward. My strained eyes are drawn again to the encompassing skyline -- oceans of serenity, plains of security, mountains of adventure.
Ah, right.
This is your world.
And I'm glad to be part of it.
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