The Island

I have never stepped off this island.

This island is my birthplace and my home. Where exactly here was I born? I was never told. Maybe somewhere along the spotted silken shore? Maybe inside the ready shelter that is the cave? Maybe in the clearing guarded by the ancient trees? Maybe the sole high point on this earth: the rock? Maybe beside the clear spring?

This island is a stranger to storms. The endless blue waters is as glass that fades at the shore and the horizon. Its skies are youthful, its sun a constant shadow, and its moon faithful. Winds no stronger than a breeze are the only airs here. It knows no other season but summer. It sings no other song but life.

This island is fantastical. This is the place that would shame the tallest castles, the grandest palaces, and stateliest mansions and humble all beauteous gardens, idyllic valleys, and cool oases. This island is where your dreams take you.

This island is where dreamers and visionaries are taken. This is where they seek inspiration. This is where they realize their desires. This is where they find hope.

This island is an immortal utopia that welcomes anyone who dares.

This island remembers all who have visited it. Footprints on the sand. Handprints on the rocks. Echoes in woods. Scents among the flowers. Shadows along the grass. It cannot forget.

This island will provide you a means to leave, be safe, and be secured for your journey. It has not failed to supply its guests any need. I myself will vouch for that! Anyone can come and go as they please. With a sole exception.

I could never step off this island.


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