Moonie mama's out travelling!

Augustine of Hippo struck the point home when he gave to the world a refreshingly simple simile likening the world to a book.Stumbling and swaying like Che's La Poderosa-these glimpses into my life’s travails glimmer like pearls on this tale’s thread.
Sweeping the coldly translucent veils of Mistress Time,I see glimpses of warm summers spent as a child-lizards scuttling along cool crevices of crumbling fortresses,lazily drifting on azure waters with notes of damp salt and the fragrant dried undergrowth,wisps of incense from burning braziers spiraling tremulously upward in spire-dotted landscapes.This warm bundle of happiness-a proud reminder of places in my country pales in comparison to multitude of worlds I had stepped in–seeing beyond grey seas and bent horizons with earthy,dog-eared palantir–like books;gleaming, crimped Santa Marias to venture under starlit skies,like a neo-Columbus.Set afire by tales of Ulysses, Bilbo’s meandering Road and adorable escapades of Finn,my boyish ambitions were inflamed by heart-wrenching toils,free-for-all feasts and merriment on the path to flighty Freedom.
A fond memory of Budapest-leisurely perusing a highly-scribbled copy of The Paul Street Boys suggested by a tipsy Irishwoman in a sunlit café,under the baleful glance of a verdigris-coated Turul,the Parliament a-twinkle in the placid waters of the blue Danube before being whisked away to the State Opera House:resplendent with the lights of a thousand lamps,fitfully glinting veins in polished marble columns,the Grecian symmetry of gods illumined by bronzed chandeliers–all attested to being a opulent embodiment of the Muses.Mild strains of On the Beautiful Blue Danube interspersed with the night sounds of a gentle river–a festive cruise with savoury stews,coldly clinking glasses,steaming silverware,waiters weaving Jeeves-like through the maze of lit-up faces,uplifted hearts and splendidly shining souls-an ephemeral river journey on a darkling summer night,with small intensely beautiful pricks of firefly-like light from other wanderers,under the eternal vaunts of starlit skies.
The soft tapping on the keyboard jolts me out of my reverie–the buzzing of sleepy cicadas,drifting wisps of thin cloud,as the moon lovingly strokes silver landscapes in the reposing earth.My eyes fall upon a copy of Coleridge’s Kubla Khan-and I think my feeble attempt at showing glimpses of my story has resulted in but a dim recollection of a magnificently fragmented dream;so let's travel again!