England's Influence on a Soul ....

Stepping into a rain puddle right off the coach, she's automatically consumed with that near intoxicating feeling that was felt just over a year ago. That feeling of actually knowing without a doubt that THIS, right here .... right now, is what everything has led her towards. That feeling of being utterly terrified to the bone, but still having hope that it will only get better and if there was any purpose for her life .... this was it. That feeling of water seeping deep into her shoe, that smell that she can't describe but knows is only smelt here and NO WHERE ELSE. She swings her bag round her shoulders while her eyes open as a means to not miss any object that may come into view. As she slides a hand in her pocket the other glides atop the stone walls and images in her mind come into view of all the heros that had done the same thing at one point in their lives. This only excites her. And just as she is nearly drunk with this experience of passion and awe, sounds of different slants of tongue make her drift elsewhere .... someplace she hasn't a clue nor the name of, but, of course, she follows it anyway.