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She walked the track, one step a time. Inhaling the smell of damp leaves, heavy trees and enjoying the cold air on her checks. She walked and let the thoughts swirl like morning mist on the ground. She hovered above thoughts, not feeling, not thinking, just observing and found the experience oddly freeing. She didn’t know if she was detached or evolved in that moment. If anything perhaps she felt slightly relieved. After everything he had done to her, she was free. Free to chose her own path, free to make her own decisions. Where would this take her? She imagined the track diverging into many paths and the freedom of choice still being hers. She felt the urge to plan and resisted it. Stepping over tree roots and stones she focused herself on the journey, the moment, and enjoyed the continuing calm. How, she wondered, could she keep this feeling. The track widened, the trees fell away and she found herself on a grassy hill overlooking the estuary. The view never failed to fill her inside with a deep feeling of belonging. This place was in her DNA. The hills, the water ways. Rich in memories, floating on the cold water, fishing off the rocks, sitting with her granddad as he calmly explained the behavior of fish. She liked the act of fishing. What she didn’t like was catching them. It seemed so sad to her, snatching them from their world when all they were doing was looking for a meal. She still ate the fish. But that moment between life and death was something she could never get used to.
She turned her gaze back to the world.
What path she wondered, did she want to take next.


Love the fresh metaphors

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