I always stop on the railway bridge in Stonehouse, and pause for a minute to stare down the train tracks towards the hills that surround us.
Wanderlust. It’s the ache in my chest that pulls me towards the horizon. It’s the longing to see what’s over the next hill. It’s standing on the sky with the wind on your cheeks and the view spread out in front of you. It’s the tug of the world out there, waiting to be discovered by you…
And the view’s never the same twice. Sometimes the tracks shine, lighting the path to somewhere else. Sometimes the clouds are so close that you could step onto them, and the world is just mist and rain beyond the bridge. Sometimes the sky is so blue and the clouds shine so fiercely that it hurts to look, and the hills in the distance are glowing with a longing that can never be satisfied-
That’s the thing about wanderlust. There’s always another horizon.