I live where people come to vacation. I ask myself, quite reasonably, why I need to go anywhere. The quiet woods and the ever-present mountains encourage stillness.
And yet, I went, roused by my desire to visit the place of my ancestors, and the place where my life originated.
I saw ancient human-built edifices, homes that have had the same slate roofs for 100 years, castles, silver rivers gleaming in the sunlight, verdant pastures, vineyards, and cities without skyscrapers. I saw vast expanses of land between villages empty of strip malls and urban and suburban decay. I saw places where evil spread its wings and flourished for a time, and places where souls might find solace in soaring, vaulted spaces.
I met people who lacked the wariness in their interactions with others that we have developed over time. They live in places where strict gun laws exist, and where reasonable leaders currently govern.
I came home, back to the woods and mountains, with a different sense of my place in time, and a deeper understanding of continuity. Where mountains soar, but where we are still fighting, one might say unsuccessfully, against the raw impulses that diminish our humanity.