Time and distance.
I know a place in a forest where there is a gateway to other times and other places. Step through the invisible shimmering curtain and the tall trees feel 10,000 years older, transported suddenly across the globe to somewhen. I’ve been to this place several times. Each time it felt nearly the same. Magic.
Time is a funny thing. I observed nearly two months ago (!) that time had slowed down, stretching into exquisitely endless golden hours. It hasn’t changed since then. Time still moves luxuriously. Languidly. Taking its own sweet time. Seconds drip into hours. Worlds are created in a breath. There is always enough, yet I always want more.
Distance is a funny thing. There is physical separation, but … is there? Isn’t distance simply an illusion? I could take one giant step northwestward and be standing among giant redwoods or on a rocky pine-kissed beach. And even if I chose to accept that a mile is a mile and 1112 crow miles is 1112 crow miles, the sense of proximity could still be there. If I close my eyes and feel with my heart, I feel warmth. A presence. A heartbeat. It is enough, and yet I want more.