by Alyssa Harrison

When I walked through the forest, my boots sinking through the soft, glistening white snow, I stared up at the towering trees above me, unable to take in the beauty surrounding me. Everything was peaceful, picturesque, the very air shimmering with magic. After we had settled down in a cosy chalet, and devoured steaming hot plates of food, we emerged into a wide-open plain with a hill rising up in front of us and mountains surrounding us. The place was alive with shrieks of laughter as people sledded down the hill, their families and friends cheering them on.

When I walked through the streets of the city, I stared in awe at the gleaming red-iron bridge that loomed up in front of me, looking even more spectacular than I had ever imagined it. I turned slowly on the heels of my feet, in awe of the circular bay which stretched on in the distance. Tourists clustered near the edge of the Wharf, or else made their way up to the bridge, under which boats and ships drifted out from the harbour. The sky was a brilliant blue and I breathed in deeply, barely able to contain my excitement at being in this unfamiliar but exciting place.

Something strange happens to you when you visit new places. Although you may yearn to go home, to a place full of comfort and familiarity, a piece of your soul remains behind in every new place you explore. That is why when you return home, the you that you are now is not the you that you were. Perhaps that is why we feel this thing called nostalgia, I do not know. The only thing I can tell you for sure is that “I am not the same having seen the moon shine on the other side of the world” (Mary Radmacher).

The Wanderings by Alyssa Harrison (WEPD Writing Piece 2021)