I can envision myself ambling by the fence that erratically meanders over the land and feel the cool breeze on my face while I keep my hands warm in the pockets of my leather jacket. It would be a good place to walk and contemplate on things personal and on things external, like observing an ant earnestly labouring to carry food across a small stretch of sand to its nest. All things are personal when they are thought of in the mind and not shared through conversations with other people. I can envision getting to the words to compose into a sentence and then compose the sentences into paragraphs and then compose the paragraphs into a coherent chapter in my book. That is a privilege of course, to walk and contemplate as it needs many days of living in such a countryside. As it is, I am only a witness to the scenery for just a sedentary moment, not being part of it although wanting to be in it.