Focus

I stepped softly over the mossy stones while the ever-wailing winds rushed through the ruined arches of this fallen monastery. As my jacket flapped in the gale, I couldn’t help a self-reflective moment and thought I must look like something on an album. One of those modern/traditional things, nodding towards one’s pre-American heritage while still striving for that monolith’s cash.

Trying to escape my own thoughts—to get out of my own head—I lifted my eyes over the stretching moor. Grey sky met green grass in that faraway horizon—and I someone’s horizon, a dark shape in the distance.