Swept

I am swept by the tide. Island to island. From Port-au-Prince to Whidbey Island, between Seattle and Vancouver. This sounds more idyllic than the reality of airports and a stop in frigid Wisconsin. To exchange summer clothes for winter. To perform between-trip banalities.

The rest of the week will be spent with friends from Weave A Real Peace. People with whom I can be my authentic self. Instead of my representative self. Of an organization. Or a movement. Or a group. Just me.

I had hoped to write more. About Haiti. But life. Keeps moving.

Currently reading: Breath, Eyes, Memory by Edwidge Danticat