An Evening's Walk

## The Direct Text

The comfortable stroll that is the short stretch from The Keller's Lantern to St. Morgan Square is both a strong source of, and justification to, pride in this city. Even as I walk down it late at night, on my way home, as I was at this instance, the rain water that glazes each round stone in the cobbled road almost reflects, in my mind, the life that bustled around atop these stones only a few hours prior to my walking by. The memories of watching those carriages, carrying either merchants' goods or a civilians' families, rustling their wheels around from stone to stone while merchants screamed into crowds trying to sell their 'distinguishable' products, customers sought out their interests while perhaps being tricked into an interest or two more, and all other bits of life took place, almost played like performances in the watery reflection of each cobble. The cracks in between showed similar shows of the shopkeepers keeping inside their usually cozy, but always sophisticated storefronts, while members of the family rested in the upstairs housing section or, those who were able, worked for their stay by cleaning windows, tables, display cases, or by taking up any other odd job that came up for them to do.

To me, that transition is a beautiful thing. By that, I mean spending time in that beautiful chaos that is Rosemary Lane, and experiencing the vast variety of life that inhabits it, and then making your way into one of those quaint little shops, pubs, or inns, and immediately being submerged in the warm, thorough embrace of coziness. Coziness moves its way through your entire body from the moment you make such a transition, warms every bit of your being, and then releases all the stress that just was through a deep, and soothing breath that is immediately comforted and cared for upon its exit of your lungs into the cozy space. Then you may find yourself in the beautifully simple mindset where all you wish to do is grab a beverage and relax at the fire.

Transitions are something I love. Something that, to me, can give daily life such an incredible spice and intrigue to it, and that is heavily missed when absent. I soon came to know that another transition was soon to follow as well, for as I looked up from the cobbled road, I noticed that I had already walked by the cathedral on my right, which meant my road, Timbered Road, was on the near horizon.

The glaze that seemed to purposely coat the stones of Rosemary Lane phased into the small, random puddles of Timbered Road. The broad, demanding avenue of Rosemary was pressed into the winding, shyness of Timbered. The vibrant, lively memories of Rosemary were privatized into the hidden, subtlety of Timbered. Only occasionally lit lanterns and candles in select residents' windows lit the narrow stone walkway.

A walk down Timbered Road is a stroll through your own soul. The setting emits an aura that causes your conscious mind to search endlessly for something it will never find. A walk down Timbered Road is a venture into thought itself. Each step, from each direction, and from every height, promises a setting that could be recorded into a work of art to make you pause and reminisce when passing its like laying out on a painter's display. The artificial and superficial beauty that is surface-beauty, and those who adore it, have no place or interest in Timbered. The paradoxical beauty of Timbered Road is simply a beauty that will find you only when you choose to allow yourself to be absorbed by incoherent majesty.

The moonlight paints my way to the unique, yet entirely regular home that I call mine. With a shift left, I walk through my stone arched gateway, the physical object that, when passing through it from one way or the other, allows me a spiritual passage between society and privacy. Once through, Timbered Road was, and I am. Another shift left, and my average, wooden door sits nestled in the stone house wall, awaiting my interaction, just to the left of my own dimly lit lantern. With a step forward, I reach the knob with my arm, pull open the door, and experience one of my favorite embraces of this world; Home.