humanity
If nothing else, travel opens your eyes to the colorful quilt that is humankind.
Peach Road
It was a wild idea. The kids were grown and living lives of their own all over the country. Why not make our escape from the drum of urban life? The heavy energy weighing heavier each year. The demands of work, mortgage and responsibility never seem to lighten. Life had become more about what we have than who we are. This reality had allowed a sadness to seep in.
By Kristine Drews5 years ago in Wander
The Inevitability of Change
When quarantine started, the first event that clued me in to the fact that things would soon be different was the shutting down of our town’s Jiffy Lube—my boyfriend’s primary source of income. The second was that I couldn’t get through to the tattoo shop where I had booked a touch up appointment for the work I had done on Valentine’s Day. No answering machine. Just a request to call again at some other time. I didn’t call again for about six months. I still haven’t had that tattoo fixed. Things like that seem so insignificant now.
By V. N. Roesbon5 years ago in Wander
The Identity of a Landscape
Week 1 - Landscape as PLACE Silver, yellow, white, white, blue, grey, red, black, grey, grey, green, silver, and forever continuing in a seemingly random pattern all in two straight vertical lines. This, my friend, is a carpark; a place you and I are most likely both familiar with. Glorious, isn’t it?
By Eloise Robertson 5 years ago in Wander
Road to self
I once came upon a silent place on the very bottom of a valley where monks, one after another, would exile for the remainder of their lives. I sat on that same bench where for an indefinite amount of time, the drought days of summer through winter’s breeze used to pass through the glance of a man. He might have felt every branch shake, every thunder, every bloom and blizzard, while his posture was slowly imitating the rose beside me.
By JPhilip Naim5 years ago in Wander
Trash Can Morning
Trash Can Morning Excerpts from Queen of the Can Openers A series on becoming homeless or not! It is February 14, 2021 Valentine’s Day. It is 6:15 AM. The wind is blowing the heavy plastic bag on my backside so tight against my skin that I am sweating. I’ve learned how to live out in nature and this morning’s glory of waking up listening to the sounds of the crashing waves is heart filling. The sky is cloudy but not foggy. The sun is barely awake and beaming its beauty. There are already bodies in wet suits trying to catch a ride in from the morning waves. The waves are restless and even more active than a few days ago.
By Lynn Denise Puckett5 years ago in Wander
Feels Like Home
I’ve always had this wanderlust inside of me. A restlessness that simply wouldn’t let go. From my earliest years, I remember the little explorer in me running off to the vast forest behind our family home. That little girl would skip and twirl in the dappled light filtered by a million leaves! Or is it a million and one? She’d try to count them all, lose her place and have to start all over again. Inevitably, she’d tire, pause to rest in a patch of sun and fall asleep from her efforts. The magic of the day would begin in the still of the moment at sunrise. From her bedroom window, she’d watch the sky magically come alive cascading from darkness to deep indigo, to hues of pink, rising in a crescendo of fiery orange! The glow would be heart stopping, then just as suddenly – Poof! Gone in a flash! She’d open her window, to try to catch the magic in her tiny hand. The challenge was to hold on to that magic you see! To carry it with you all day; To blow on a dandelion that had gone to seed and make a wish; To run and catch the end of the rainbow; To live the most each day!
By Julie Godfrey5 years ago in Wander
Rainstorm
Yesterday, I got caught in a rainstorm. I wanted to go for a walk, to prepare for all the hiking I plan on doing in March. I ended up going further than I planned and got stuck under that bat bridge for about forty minutes. My dad did come and pick me up, as he was on his way home from work and we now live together. I felt a little like a child, embarrassed only to myself that I needed saving. I was ill prepared. I didn’t even think about the rain, I just ran out there because I really wanted to. And for it, I got soaked, stranded, frozen. And I loved it.
By Nick Blocha5 years ago in Wander
Brooklyn
My Name is Terrell and my hometown is Brooklyn, NY. What I love bout Brooklyn is the diversity and creative nature of the town. Brooklyn has a reputation for being a hard-nosed, tough town that has birth some very creative and influential people. New York City as a whole is one of, if not the most diverse city in the world, and Brooklyn is a direct reflection of that. The biggest difference between Brooklyn and Manhattan is the diversity in neighborhoods. Manhattan has a lot of people of different ethnicities and nationalities together. Brooklyn on the other hand has various neighborhoods of different nationalities, which really allows you to see how different cultures live.
By Terrell Ray5 years ago in Wander
My Home
There have been so many times I’ve said, “I am going home” referring to a place that was not actually my home. Like the times I’ve been on vacation and told a group of new friends I just met that I was “heading home”, but really I was just going back to the cute little Airbnb I’d rented for the week. It was not really home, but it felt that way while I was there. I am sure many of you can relate. I tend to be on the more adaptable side, making myself comfortable in these places. Forgetting that after seven or ten, days I will no longer be there. I will pack up my things and go back to my “real” home. There’s a specific feeling there - when you’ve gotten used to this new space, and your new surroundings. But, at the same time, you’re yearning to be in your own bed, in your own house. And you cannot wait to get home. Home, what does it mean?
By Christina Viola5 years ago in Wander
Old Stomping Grounds
There is a term I like to throw around when discussing the best hometown features and reminiscing good old nostalgia. Its coined old stomping grounds! (Where I'm not actually stomping ground, ya know its um...a figure of speech, an idiom as you will. Gosh, who remembers those?!)
By Mark Smith5 years ago in Wander
