This was something I wrote in answer to a writing challenge issued at an author's forum I sometimes frequent - sort of an experiment.  This was the challenge:

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.

I wrote two pieces in answer to this challenge.  This is the first.

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I felt it, calling and pulling at me, like it always did, the siren call to my spirit as strong as a riptide. When I finally heard the roar of the waves, I felt the knots in my back begin to uncurl themselves, and my hands relaxed on the steering wheel.

It was cold, the wrong time of year to be on the beach, but I welcomed the solitude, and the icy spray hitting my face as I walked close to the edge of the water. The tang of seawater tickled the back of my throat, mingling there with the tears that wanted to come, but that I wouldn't release.

I walked hip-deep into the breakers, ignoring the frigid water, welcoming the feel of the tide. My ring came off easily and I looked at it for a moment before tossing it away from me, back into the water that was my home.

I sighed once, and the rest of the tension in my body left with my exhale. I looked out to the horizon, and then said, "Soon....I'll be back soon." Then I turned and made my way back to solid land, and the reality of the life that awaited me.