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I moved to a tropical country because I couldn’t stand the cold north. It was not only physical.  Beyond the pleasant manners, people seemed absorbed in their own world. Something essential seemed to be missing.  I noticed it in churches too.  To my dismay, I later found just as much permafrost underneath the vivacious sanguine Latino. It just took a lot longer to recognize it.

During these uneasy years of solitude, writing/reading became my unforeseen yet welcomed refuge. Like a fragrance from childhood, I discovered writing to transport me to distant places, other eras and/or states of mind.  It jump started video images where reverie took flight.

I recently read a writer’s profile. Her words jumped out at me as bolts of lightening. She shared how writing was a deeper part of who she was — how it was one of the most compelling and beautiful ways to express herself.  I later reflected how few appreciate the power of the words possess to console, rejuvenate and inspire through their bold transparency.

*sigh*

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