I like it here, in the Valley. It’s funny; time seems to slow down when I’m here. Whenever I come back, it’s like nothing’s changed. Every year it’s the same calendar; every year the same routines- and I love it.


I wouldn’t change anything; from the green springs, after the thaws have come, and the land the land is lush and fertile, when everything looks hopeful, promising. I wouldn’t change the golden summers, baking hot with the grey waterfalls of summer storms, or walking under the great trees as their leaves change through the autumnal spectrum before tumbling to the ground to meet the first frosts that spread across the wide fields. And then winter. When the snow falls, blanketing everything in silence until the sun blinks over the horizon, ready for the majority of the population discovers the wintery surprise with delight (and the minority of the Valley discover it with many a groan)


            I wouldn’t change anything.


            Life has gone on in the Valley in the same way for as long as anyone can remember, and it would flow on like that, unless someone dared to disrupt its course.


            The people of the Valley were almost oblivious to the outside world. They ventured rarely from their safe haven, choosing to stay behind the grassy walls of the hills that surrounded them. After all; everything they -we- needed could be grown or made with the resources that the Valley provided. It was perfect, and that was why it was so wrong.


            The World was changing. The Valley, in the East, remained unchanged while progress grew from the South. Ships were arriving at the Harbour, war ships. Progress was coming. And the Valley wouldn’t remain unchanged forever.


The End

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