Whitish gray, deep mist surrounding everything. Cold sweeping into her bones—familiar, yet foreign. A well-known feeling long ago forgotten, only vaguely recalled through the heaviness in her heart, her soul. Nostalgia. Yet as the fog receded she could see the colors. She could discern the cypresses...
She was home.
So, I stumbled upon this initiative from 
The colorful labyrinth (I'll post a photo of it on a sunny day someday, I promise) is a beloved symbol, and a beacon signaling coming home once again.
