You've been welcomed into a new land. The invitation you received ages ago finally removed from the refrigerator door where a quiet magnet held it close to you but far from your attention. You brought it with you, just in case, your name engraved in the vellum. In case someone might think you don't belong here. In case you might think you don't belong here.
The border crossing was simple, no formalities. There is an easy, automatic feeling of home here. Well, except for the fact that you don't speak the language and can't read the signs.
Blind here, your hand stretches out, a five-legged spider who knows the lay of land without ever having visited.