From My Journal – 10-20-13
Torino, Italy
Sitting in my apartment looking through the window, opaque by fog, buses going by, last night the neighbors were running up and down, loud talk, outside the world walked by and I wonder why. Why am I here, why I must question why. My wife lies asleep, resting for her return to the U.S.
I wonder why. I wander. Why? I am surrounded by Italians, another culture, another language. I am alone. But not.
A new language, culture. Way of life. Yet in my genes, and jeans, and sole soul I am me. Still. I am I. I am. I question myself and I question the world and I question. But I know. Some things. I know the beauty of Raphael. The sacrifices of martyrs and heros and saints and sinners – all of whom may be the same person depending on where you sit.
I know the fear of growing older with so much of me still planted, not harvested. I know the fear of dying—unfulfilled. I know the worry of health, and marriage, and love, and loss. I know these things and more. I know the light of music, the urge to dance. I know the tears of happiness when I hug my wife.
I watch a solitary man go his way, I don’t know why. I watch a pigeon walk the other way. I do know why.
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