You are living in your alternate reality. Where life is slow and easy. Where roads are winding and long, sun baked and broken, and nothing is the chaotic mess it is when you go back. “Back”. You’ve seen the storms here; the daggers of rain as they parade asphalt, the angers of winds as they spew embers. No, the land is not forgiving- far from it. It is rugged and endless and once you enter it, well, goodluck.
Goodluck with suburbiana and a million homes alike. Goodluck comparing the differences, when you can’t tell what is sane or the same, what is real and what is fake. Goodluck living in the ratrace against borrowed time. And goodluck living with the mess in your head.
But you can sleep easy now- softly and surely and slowly- Knowing that it is here, or there, however warm or cold or burnt or dry, frozen in soot and frozen in time. Those rolling hills are yours. Those endless plateaus- they are yours. So enjoy it and don’t glorify it. I so hope that when you close your eyes, you can smell the taste, and hear the feeling, and listen to the ways of the rugged land that is yours, just not to keep.