personal: a note on travel

To kick off my pictures from my recent trip to Europe. I am going to share a poem I wrote on a layover on my way home. Maybe then you can understand my love affair with this funny thing called travel:


a poem.

What is it about planes, trains, boats, and cars that becons me so?

Why when I book that ticket to a far off land my hear is heigher then a jet plane?

Born traveler, you say? I have tasted the wine of wander. The rush of a foreign winds, the heat of Roman a summer.


And, you can’t take away my wander. I am wanderer. People tell me to grow roots, to settle. But they have never felt the rush of a far off sea; for if they had, they would understand. I am wanderer, you can’t take it our of me.






You can’t take it

out of me.




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