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Imagine you are walking down a lane in a quaint town. Perhaps it's like the one where you live,

or one you've visited before.

Streets like this are familiar and welcoming, with a few shops, maybe a cafe or two,

and a handful of sandwich board signs. As you walk, you find yourself becoming lost in thought.

The shops go by with a quick glance. Perhaps you catch a word here or there on the signs.

Coffee, sale, local, inside. Strings of words play together in your mind and paint a picture

of your surroundings. It's a comfortable place to be. You have no cares and no worries.

It's just you and the rhythmic feel of walking. One foot up and one foot down.

And little words that give you a sense of what you're passing by. Your eyes take in a

tall, potted fern outside one of the storefronts. Another shop has rows and rows of books behind

the glass. There are ones with blue bindings and others with yellow. Some are leather bound.

A few lucky ones are standing on their own, showing off their artful covers to people walking by.

On the corner, a charming little restaurant has put out tables and chairs.

There are places set for four people to gather together and chat over a meal.

Each table has a delicate purple candle in the centre and a pair of salt and pepper shakers.

You keep walking, past a shop selling antique clothing and jewelry. A large silver brooch catches

your eye and you imagine who might have worn it long ago. And then tucked back off the sidewalk

...