Far-Off Places

Close your eyes and listen to this.  What do you see?
It has this strange beauty to it. It has a certain nostalgia to it, in a sense.  I hear this and see sunshine.  I can't distinguish the season, it doesn't matter.  I just feel warm sun on my skin, and the rest is simplicity.
If the season is summer, I see tall grass.  It's dusk and the sun is setting.  The glow of the sun is warm and orange, casting mysterious shadows, giving the individual strands of grass their own auras.  The trees against the skyline are dark silhouettes.  There's a soft breeze blowing and it picks up strands of your hair every once in a while.  The sun kisses your face, the temperature is perfect.  Maybe you're near the coastline, and there's a beach close by.  Can you hear the waves rolling?  Me, too.  You take a walk, down along the beach.  Your toes sink into the sand and leave imprints whose fates are to be washed away moments later by the ever-changing sea.  You pause to stare out at the ocean that disappears at the horizon.  The sun lies off to the side, sinking at its leisurely summer pace.  Water washes over your feet rhythmically, and it's soothing.  You close your eyes and turn your face to the sun, soaking up its warmth once more.  The stretch of beach is lonely, but in a good way.  It's just you and the wooden boardwalk a few meters away, until someone comes beside you and takes your hand - who is it?  Perhaps a lover, or a friend.  Perhaps a parent, a brother or sister.  The hand is reassuring; safety is in that touch.  You smile, and doesn't it feel amazing.  It reaches your eyes and spreads through your whole body until smile is all you can do.  You're at peace, with the sky, the sun, the sand, the water, the land, the birds.  You're happy with your life, content and comfortable.  But what's more is you're finally at peace with yourself.  You're happy with who you are, proud. 

But maybe it's winter.  If it's winter, I see a field covered by a thick blanket of snow.  It's late afternoon and the sun is lower in the sky, glowing in a way that it can't any other time of year.  It, too, casts shadows.  The temperature isn't too cold, and there is a slight breeze.  It picks up the lighter, top layer of snow and throws the sparkly particles around in dreamy swirls.  It glitters and catches the sun in a way no other medium could.  You breathe and for once your breath is visible, forming tiny clouds that dance in front of you.  You're just taking a lazy walk down an old road, lined on either side by those old wooden fences you only ever seem to see in the countryside.  You always liked those fences as a child - their haphazardness and imperfection fascinated you.  It still does, in a way.  It's a refreshing change from the cookie-cutter houses you're used to seeing.  Everyone's so caught up in the new, no one seems to embrace the old anymore.  Moving forward is good, yes, but never forget things that once were.  Old houses are prettier in their own way, because they have stories to tell, in every floorboard and tile; the same way a woman lined with age has a story for every wrinkle she bears.  Age is a beauty of its own, but we forget that.  Maybe we shouldn't.

Just some creative writing and musings inspired by Circadian Eyes' song Swing Set.  Get it here.  Check him out!  Maybe these words and the music will take you somewhere, at least for a few moments.  Goodness knows we all need to get away for at least a little while.