When autumn slowly usurps the sun soaked days of summer, I dream of walking out my front door only to be greeted by a temperature that catches my breath. I dream of crisp red and yellow leaves crunching under my boots as I weave through the city on my way to school. I dream of sleepy Sundays where nothing but a novel, hot chocolate and a warm blanket can soothe my soul...
One day I will be there.
It makes me sad when you
behind closed eyelids
Dreaming of a place further away from here
And for a moment I forget the rain
Darkness brings me through
Deeeeeeeep into me
G A S P
breath and release
"Brazilians are the treasure of their own country. In 2003 I stopped at the tin roofed mercado in Manaus and bought a hammock. A few nights later I slung it on a crowded riverboat among scored of brazilians. The adventure that followed was epic—10 days of mahogany forests, river dolphins and howler monkeys at sunset— but that first night changed me forever. Poor and middle class, young and old, black and brown and white, everyone passed food around and pursued the mysterious arts of eating sleeping and falling in love while suspended in a hive of swaying net bags. That first night they included me, fed me, and didn’t laugh when I spoke Portuguese. They taught me to go diagonal in a hammock; the taught me that Brazilians will give everyone a chance. For a while I was a citizen of their little country, and a part of you never comes home from that."
""How strange is the therapy of the soul!" he thought. "This lady is wasting away because she thinks I do not love her. I give her Rio de Janeiro and she is well again." And he made a note of the phenomenon."