
![20200303_083734[1].jpg](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/1b1d43_246a7c1e12254ec7b9ab3479509552c5~mv2.jpg/v1/crop/x_160,y_0,w_2944,h_2448/fill/w_526,h_437,al_c,q_80,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01,enc_auto/20200303_083734%5B1%5D.jpg)
I have arrived here tired and thirsty. I have travel far already. Here is the edge of a vast, dry, desert. I can feel the hot, dusty, wind blow past me.
In the far horizon I see mountains, or is it a mirage? I cannot stay here. I must keep moving forward; but between here and there I see nothing but sand; nothing to sustain life.
If I attempt to cross I feel I will not survive and the desert sands will cover me and it will be as though I have never been. Yet I hear you call my name on the wind from the other side. And so...I step forward.
(From a journal entry in 1992)