to Edinburgh castle, I’m in tran-sit.
There’s a grass mar-ket
and a little vegan shop.
All summer I discover and revisit for-mer
Sometimes the little pa-use teaches more than a class lecture.
In the crisp, cold air,
I look forward to fresh croissants
and explorations around the city.
I take a weekend trip to Inverness.
The Highland Cows call to me
and the quiet trees give me the
I need to paint on my canvases with acrylic creativity.
30 minutes, then I’ll be the off-roading.
My odyssey: beginning.
across the dirt roads.
The departure from Olancho reveals many sights.
Outside of the windows, the might
of receivers of past mission work
is revealed with wide grins and concrete gifts.
Sometimes mission-work dirt cleans deeper than the water back home.
I cannot say much more than
“gracias” and “ola”
but every day I know my work
speaks more to them than
I mix concrete.
My body aches.
I construct latrines.
I wake up sore.
I never wake up without a smile.
Every day in Honduras reminds me
of how much the concrete feeds my soul
more than the luxuries of big cities.