I sat down with a cup of coffee, the winter sun almost warm, deceptive. I opened Koudelka's Exiles and once again, I wanted to leave everything behind and wander. Some books are like that. They breathe and die in a low whisper, barely audible words whose abstract meaning is all too clear...go they say. Become.
I looked at my surroundings for the millionth billionth time. I saw the common but chose the exception.