I remember the town I grew up in fondly. It lies far to the north, beyond the stagnant swamps and heavy air of the place in which I now live. Tall sloping hillsides surround and protect its hidden radiance from the ever prodding growth of polluted cities and equally poisoned outsiders, while small and infrequently traveled roads bid welcome to those who seek shelter from such places and people.
     I covet that place, and ache to view once more that which embodies the town’s true splendor. A splendor which lies in the allure of its arcane subtleties. Narrow stone bridges pass above the town’s river whose wide snaking curves hide its length; forgotten pathways which rest within thick tree lines lead into thicker depthless forests; dilapidated wells of cyclopean stonework attempt to remain standing in an effort to resemble some aspect of past glory, but instead slump and fade into their silent surroundings…
      Pure exile from those hallowed grounds would undoubtedly leave me waiting in fear of the murky scum-coated waters to swallow me down into the marsh that is my current abode. But providence shines upon me, and when the stars are right those lightly traveled roads which lead into that town forever set within the hills become apparent to my eyes!
     I now traverse down these still familiar roads with dream like visions in my mind of childhood memories. They overlay my sight with ghosts of forgotten friends and the adventures we would have exploring all the shortcuts and secrets that hidden forest paths and supposed dead ends would show us. Despite the years that have passed, those who I encounter along my walk still remember my face and ask with cheer how long I will be home for, to which I must then ask myself; of all the ways to describe a place where I no longer live, how can a word like ‘home’ be used so accurately? The sound this word makes when spoken is foreign to me and leaves my ears straining for something more accustom. It is a terrible reminder of how long I have been away and is the only reminder I’ve yet to come across, for nothing here has changed or aged. The wells still slump, the river still snakes, and the forests remain just as beautifully depthless.
     It is good to be home.