How different it is between the prickly, low-bush south where I grew up and the stone-tinged autumn north where I moved. Yet neither of these places brings me peace anymore; they call and beckon, not allowing me to prefer one over the other. The impossibility of deciding on a place to live and the preference for change has led me to a single comforting thought — the path is safe. Only in motion and on the road, where a stop causes only anxiety, do I manage to reconnect with myself and the space around me.