A Place We will Never Find

These winds blow cold and we do not have a place to hide from them. We are out here on these bared hillsides looking down at our valleys of memories, knowing we can never return to those places we have left behind. The past always lies behind us, too far out of reach, too far back ever to return. We can only ever move onward, looking for a place we know we will never find.

We have no homeland, we have no homes. All we have is movement and distance. We do not stay in any place beyond the time it allows us, we move on, always searching and rarely – if ever – finding.

We no longer really know what it is we look for. We have stories, told late at night around our campfires – of a land we once knew generations ago, that our people called home, and we wander these roads, paths and trails seeking some kind of clue as to where it lies, but deep down we know it only ever existed in those stories.

Now the night grows dark and the fire dims too much for us to see each other’s faces. We have told all the stories we know, so now it is time to sleep in readiness to move on tomorrow.