ParadiseGrass hit the underside of my foot, and bright light seared my corneas as humid, tropical air invaded my lungs.
It smelled of flowers. And sea salt. And heck was it humid, even the wind seemed thick enough to slice.
So… definitely not Mexico.
Or London.
Curiously, I took a look around the meadow that seemed to come straight out of a movie.
Palms and vibrant green bushes and trees framed the field of grass and flowers, the plants swaying softly in a light breeze. Up in the sky, the sun was chased by fluffy postcard clouds, and insects buzzed through the air. Birds trilled, and the subtle whoosh of waves off in the distance created a kind of harmonic, calming soundtrack that made the defenses I built around myself relax just a bit.
This place. As foreign and tropic-house-exotic
