SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Giving Notice - Friday, Sept. 29, 2017
Accepting Offers - Tuesday, Sept. 26, 2017
Indian/Polish Wedding - Thursday, Sept. 21, 2017
The Builder - Wednesday, Sept. 13, 2017
Rupert Part II - Sunday, Sept. 10, 2017


Tuesday, Jun. 24, 2003 @ 11:21 am
Cinque Terre, Italy



Lemon trees heavy with yellow fruit. The air scented with basil and thyme, roasting brown earth, and the spicy dry of the olive grove. The olive grove, the air sage green and misty dry, and us hiking through its bliss. Heaven here, among the green vineyards and stone terraces. The church bells clatter through the labyrinth of stone streets.

A cat curls up in the bottom of a heavy terra cotta planter.

At night in the Sea I watch my hands move through the clear water and sparks shoot of my finger tips. Phosphorescence, magic fire in the water, the train clitterclatters by up high on the cliff. Boys drumming on the rocky beach, thumping heartbeat across the water, we dive under and our whole bodies are shimmering sparkling.

Mind wanders, thinking, finally reflecting on life and direction as the first journal is filled to the very last page. This is day 50 of my travels, and I am halfway through being 22 years old. Numbers, lists, things to do in life, the journal is packed with inky resolutions. Here is life, here is my heaven, and I am living. Missing. In the olive groves I feel alone, missing someone, something, patiently among the olive trees I progress.


Roots | Shoots