England, My Lionheart

England was, and is, irresistible to me in its magic. Ever since I was a small child, something about that country of green and gray and rain had called to me. When I finally did first make my way to its streets, I stood on the bridge by Westminster during sunset, looking up an enormous, noble lion carved of white stone and wanted to weep. As if to say, I'm home, Aslan. It took some time, but I'm finally here. 

A call I'd felt and heard for so long, finally answered. Not in its entirety, but a start nonetheless. My feet had made their way across the ocean and I stood there, if only for a few days.

This is not to say I love my own country or my beloved Paris any less. These are the three countries that bind me--America, forever home; Paris, forever a sigh and a song; and England, forever the place  of my dreams. I think a place call call and beckon just as strongly as a person or occupation. 

England, with its Lake District and green fields, bright red buses, black cabs, fish and chip shops, countless trains, and cups of tea, always beckons.