The breeze stirred the leaves high above me, and played with one or two loose strands of my scruffy brown ponytail.

A butterfly of some sort got briefly tossed around in an eddy before fluttering off in irritation.

I dug my fingers into the grass, enjoying the cool green scent of my garden.

Arcadia is a strange part of Above. It can be whatever you want it to be; a memory, a perfect representation of a real place, a surreal world of oil pastel and golden light... whatever you need. It can be affected by your mood, who you're with, what you ate...

It's a blank canvas, but what it...