Land of Living Skies

I come from the land of the living skies, where the winds of change will fill your sails, no matter where you're headed.

Where green and white flags flutter in the same gusts of difference as more convenient banners of green and gold.

A place where everyone knows your name, because despite the mass of land, you're never more than an arm's length from someone who knows you well enough to love you.

Land nearly lost to droves of Settlers, but never succeeded; and the further north you go, the easier it is to see why.

A place where you climb the lookout not only to see the tops of trees, depths of valleys, or expanse of the plains- but justly for unobstructed views of the skies above.

And should you ever endeavor to make it past the easy parts, don't be surprised if a part of you never leaves.

Where else could you see every piece of the sky above you? What other station exists where all you need to do is look up, to remember the world is limitless, filled with every possibility, and that hope heals just about everything.

A place where those most lusting for change are the most sanguine of us all. Solidly withstanding and weathering irresolute winds, where more feeble feet are blown further away; led anywhere but the wild and wide open plain, that no matter who you've become, or where you find yourself, we all still call home.