A little south of Tumbling Waters
If you stand on the cool, grassy slopes of the never-ending tarn with the hot afternoon sun beating down on you and into your face blows the fierce westerly wind, and you are humbled by the sweeping majesty of what lies before you.
If you scan the shore line and see, the freshies, perfectly still like ornamental dragons, sunbake peacefully, drying their tough hides and realise they suffer you no malice.
If you look to the distant horizon that lies across the silver waters of this vast churned-up sea and you see the ghost-like image of the fading blue sea-serpent protecting his domain.
If you see white sails gliding, gracefully to unknown destinations as they disappear from view their memory indelibly etched into your canvas of life.
If you look wistfully at these rolling, waxen ships so far away with the sun reflecting upon their sails, that the wind gives body to, and wonder what quaint mysteries of romance they hide.
If you drool or even show the slightest sign of envy you are not far from being affected and accepted into the rambling cult of free spirits.
If when you see the wild birds on the wing and wish that you could fly with them anywhere at all in the world and into adventure, then your spirit has entered the realm of the aimless wanderer and into the deep unrestricted passage to oblivion where favourable winds sing forever.