Home of the Nomad
Open like minds on the day of the solstice, the wayward sky encapsulated the town with a warmth of quaint shelter. A dome-shaped so wide around the vast flat land as it held air so breathless in the light of the star-kissed sun. His hands meandered through the wind of the grass that tickled the skin of his palms. He turned his head towards the sensation as the grass strands poked gently into the bosom of his cheek. Here whispers the land of the living skies. Skies that speak to him and move him forward with their winded bellows. Skies that whisper a twinkle of adventure to him as his eyes reflect the ventured display of stars at night. The narrow river shot through the town, its current flushing itself rapidly, passing bridge after bridge, until there was no fervor to wish itself forward any longer. Segregated diversity rang persistently here. Yet convention remained ingrained at its core, sewn tightly to its hips when he heard the Catholic mass bells ringing to the dew and dawn of the Sunday mornings. The place itself was big enough to know no one but small enough to know the people that passed by you at the marketplace. The urban remained peculiar, a home to those who chose to wander and those who decided to brave its namesake. The emotionless bitter cold would freeze the municipal so still during the winter that a pin drop could be echoed across the blare of the frozen river that dissected her. Often, when the city's heart ached hard enough, the northern lights would dance its skies, painting their green dissipating light between the stars. When the snow would grace its ground, it would heap like mounds of iridescent sand piles, as tiny white glinting diamond specs would reflect the sun into the breeze.
He was a teen when his family drove away from the town and the flatlands of the living skies. They moved onwards to a home of revered secularity, harmony, spirit, and sustenance. The wide-open land began to morph slowly as he peered out the window into hills that proliferated the earth like the breasts of a mother cow. The hills transformed themselves into mountains, limberly peeking out of the sky, reaching upwards and onwards towards the stars.
When he arrived, he unpacked his belongings into the small 3-bedroom space they would call home for the short time they spent there. As he opened the apartment door the following morning, the dewed scent of the misted forest engulfed him. He took in the candor of the surrounded encircling mountains, the vast still lake, and the wonder that peered back at him from his window.
