A sunset alone. Another sunset alone. The etchings on the great wall peculiar and contrived.

Your horse trots, your horse you ride. Camp is, as has been for weeks, meditative yet anxious; the stars inspire awe, but the creaks in the thicket make your heart thump.

You’ve ventured into the unknown; effectively unknown that is, for the trails are traveled and worn yet the feeling is all the same — alone. For once, yes, you are alone.

You dismount your steed as the setting beams paint red and yellow on the great rock wall. You take a deep breath — one that fills your lungs with warmth and pressure.

Nature’s anxiety keeps hold of you, but the anxiety of your past and your future melts away; you’re relieved. The knot in your stomach, the pulling of your hair — gone.

You feel a sense of purpose — to survive, nothing more. You thought this life, of dirt and of struggle, would be all tax and pain, yet escaping the ruins set you free. How peculiar.