"“In nine months a man can think a lot of thoughts, from the height of philosophical conjecture to the most abject longing for a bowl of soup... And if at the same time he's a bit of an adventurer, he could have experiences that might interest other people, and his random account would read something like this..."
So read the words of Ernesto Che Guevara, in his memoir "“Motorcycle Diaries."
Like an onslaught of waves, time has a way of polishing even the most distinct stone into a pebble identical to the ones around it. So it goes with days. Days flow in, days flow out. Small wonders begin to take their place in the daily routine. Daily inspirations begin to turn into weekly. Weekly into monthly.
Fortunately that's not what is happening here.
If anything, the days have been utterly unselfish in their inspirations. And like a mad sailor coming upon an island full of treasures, I have been keeping them to myself. For that, I apologize.
So, visit again. And with weather permitting, I should be able to pull out chest or two.
I hope they will sparkle as much in your sun as in mine.
Until then,
-V
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