I was thinking about how much a change of scenery affects our mood. Like music, only the song is a palette surrounding us on all sides, with smells in addition to sounds filling our heads and hearts. You can sit in a place like this and think, or not think while trying to find a Zen-like tranquility or a spiritual revelation.
It's feelings like this that people travel to places like this.
Safaris over sun packed earth, golden and brown and baked. Adventure and vigor and the wild.
Azure fields of grass tickling and caressing while another sun touches our faces from above. Nostalgia and innocence and soft beauty.
Nighttime walks through giant graveyards, fear and respect checking each other on a scale. Mystery, culture, mortality.
Nights measured in thumping bass and glamarous flesh, and bathed in rain and neon. Love, lust, and denial.
Rained on by kisses
from the happy mouths of kind strangers and family
Dark as delight
Sweet as salt
The next day
And it all ends perfectly,
Or bitter sweet at least as you drive past it out the window.
His neck hurt, he couldn't look anymore and turned around.
And we go home with a treasure in our hearts
It can't be sullied
but
It can't be recreated ever.
It's a shame I can't uproot some of this grass from the hill, mix it with the warm earth and sand, and put it in my mouth and swallow it to make me whole.
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