To be a child once again, when each day was a new beginning and time was irrelevant. There is a pure wisdom of youth that transcends the limitations of reason. There is purity of spirit and belief. A beauty of the soul without even awareness of it's existence.
But, wherever the wanderer travels, the places of youth are a powerful magnet, a continual, bittersweet tug. In the mind's eye, there are no time passages. In one surprising solitary moment, the natural world aligns itself again in the windswept sand, the brooding clouds and the waves sweeping against the shore. As the seagulls cry and ride the wind, with them comes a phantom, youth's caress. A reprieve.
But, wherever the wanderer travels, the places of youth are a powerful magnet, a continual, bittersweet tug. In the mind's eye, there are no time passages. In one surprising solitary moment, the natural world aligns itself again in the windswept sand, the brooding clouds and the waves sweeping against the shore. As the seagulls cry and ride the wind, with them comes a phantom, youth's caress. A reprieve.
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