clouds and umbrellas really aren't that different: clouds sing lullabies to owls & umbrellas are paperweights for people. i know it seems unrelated, really- i do, but children, canaries and cartographers have convinced me otherwise. of course, other wise women have settled for much less, but i can't give up the ghost of whimsy tendencies. i have to say it's the most colorful haunting. my sister and i are going on a wild hunt for olive pits in an old city in gaza. my parents left the pits as children in soils they were told to say goodbye to & the names they burned on wooden doors are romantically exhausting trails left behind. it is their legacy. how small is that? regardless, isn't there such a magnetism there for us- girls who live to love our family and find , tell, save, bury, and set secrets free?
your expatriette in tunis.