Provoke your muse; flashfic challenge

from my beloved ABSTRUSE, at literotica;
You are at a crossroad. Each direction will take you to a different place.
North will take you through a snowy forest
South will take you to the ocean.
East will take you to a busy city street.
West will take you to a deserted village.

You are to choose a path and write what you experience. The writer’s goal is to stimulate the reader’s senses.
You must let them know what it’s like to be there as if they see it through your eyes, hear it with your ears, taste it with your mouth, smell what you smell.
Other than the snowy forest, you may choose the weather.

Think about the path you’ve chosen and why you did.
There is no deadline, no word count…it must be purely from you.
It can be a story or a snippet , what ever.
You may be alone or meeting someone or with someone. Are there animals? is it hot or cold? what is going on in your head when you get to your destination.

South, South I tramped. The winds at night got a little warmer; Each day’s journey saw Spring burgeoning around me, from the sere fallow woods of the lands i was leaving. South, always, my shadow swinging across my path as each day progressed. Each morning saw the pale sunrise colors, the rich bloody hues of the setting sun, and the greens of summer came clearer and clearer, birds now singing the songs of territory and mating all around me. I saw my first citrus tree- some tiny dark orange fruit it was, with a sweet rind and sour flesh. I plucked a double handful and ate hungrily of the flavor of home.

And then- from the South- came that long-remembered tang in the air. It filled my nostrils, filled my lungs, filled my heart with home. In just a few days more journey the land around me was lifting into the high hills that presaged the final descent, the grass had become the hardier saw-blades that can abide the salt.

I saw the sparkle of the ocean, reflected in the hazy air, before i saw its blue waters. My travel-hardened limbs raced across the hillside meadow, and I only paused for an instant to look down the slope, before I was running, nearly out of balance, and why I didn’t end up rolling the rest of the way is a mystery to me.

The wide, white sands, welcomed me. Under a sweet warm breeze, warmed by the Sun of my childhood, I shucked my pack, my clothing, the last remnants of my Northern life, and ran into the softly rolling breakers of the Mediterranean.

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Tags: prompts, the process of writingconditions