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The forecast said “Rain today”,
the wind blew it all away,
There are only blue skies now
I’ll walk to the town cafe,
on the docks of the blue green bay
hear the fisherman sing and shout
The hills rise to meet the sky
The shadows dance with the light
The palm trees bow down to the sea
The bicycles pass me by
As I walk the seagulls fly
A soft breeze gives sound to the leaves
I woke up this morning in a house on a hillside under the grey sky of Bosnia. I could hear the voices of a dozen children bouncing off the walls, and rain fell softly on the other side of the window. After breakfast I would take a walk, rain or shine, I just needed a little time to think, to pray, to write.
I didn't bring an umbrella with me this afternoon as I walked the puddled path into the city to find a cafe. Now here I am with my latte in a city where people say "Hello" when they mean to say "Good bye".
Here I am an American, and to the rest of the world that's what I am. They ask me where I am from and then wonder why I have come. Why cross the ocean to leave the dream? What purpose or calling could have brought me here? What was I thinking?