Walking down the village path, I start to daydream. There is nothing much else to do here, even the seagulls are bored. I think about the last book I read, about exotic places I have never seen. An African plain, where the lions rule. Cold, hard to reach mountains, seeming devoid of life. But creatures do live there, you just have to know where to look.

I reach the small beach, and start to collect shells. I wonder where they have traveled from, what animals may have inhabited them. The sky is a clear blue, the air hints of summer. I stick my toe into the sea, but it’s still too cold to swim. I continue to walk on the beach. Our village is tiny, nothing too look at, but our beach stretches for miles.

In the distance I see the fishing boats return. I hope they had good luck. Time have been tough, the fishing is worse. I arrive at the jetty, and walk along its length. It’s rough under my bare feet, but I need to toughen them for the summer. I sit down, and pull my book out my bag.

Instantly I and transported to the distance lands again. Today, I am in Antarctica, reading our amusing penguins. What odd creatures, living somewhere so remote, so cold, so lonely. And having to huddle together for warmth. How loud it must get with all their chattering.

I pause in my reading, to look at the horizon. I am lonely, and desire to travel. Perhaps go to one of the places in my book. There is little room to grow in this little village. And I need more.