When I was younger it was more than normal for me to devour a couple of books a week, or I'd often be found sat in the corner of the garden scrawling down my own stories - elephants that could dance, dinosaurs that could climb trees, dogs that could talk. As I've got older this creative side of me hasn't been so dominant, but sometimes all it takes is a long hike in the mountains for this sense of childhood wonder to come rushing back.
That's why I go to the mountains, because it brings me back to who I am. The mountains... they're below me, above me, within me. Being outside immersed in nature has always enhanced my need to write - it's always lit a creative spark within me. Today more than ever. It's a creative flow that I won't even begin to try to understand - it's just something I trust in. The urge to race back down the mountainside and find some paper to pour out the story I've felt brewing in my head these past few months. Stories about this magical place.
When you live close to nature something magical happens - it somehow becomes part of you. You wander along the same paths you've wandered along hundreds of times before and you realise it's never the same. As the seasons change and the world moves around you, something is always changing within you too. No matter what path we choose, what footsteps we take: we are all just stories, connections, journeys, movements. Forever evolving - we are all somehow part of every single person we've ever met in our life, all part of every place we've ever been. We are all full of stories worth telling. Connections... however big or small - I think they make this life beautiful ✨
