#152
Potent places.
Walking the old fields.
The ones with memories, they hold for me. Some sachets of life that should be left undisturbed. The dog treads cautiously near my side. He too sensing something old here.
The wildflower meadow where, once, I collapsed, under the weight of my own self. I woke to the dog’s tongue in my ear. Unable to truly realize anything else but walking home.
This old life felt full of promise, and misaligned priorities, however those two things fit together. The old life was simple on a level that, I was too young for.
Now, the old paths show me towards a different direction. One that shaped a future that I can’t yet see but is lurking behind a mountain or a building. On a tram or under the waves.