(A flight of fancy set your mind on the path of dreams)
Sometimes I wish I could travel more, though my travels through Britain, France, and Germany when I was younger left me with a treasure chest of memories, and, occasionally, I rifle through it and find jewels and lengths of satin, such as my memory of walking across the moors near the Bronte parsonage in Haworth, and my time in a daffodil-filled London one April. I can enjoy the fact that unlike with real travel, I don’t have the discomforts of always seeming to be hungry or thirsty, or having sore feet. Still, travel can be uplifting– if nothing else you the the pleasure of coming back home. But this summer doesn’t look like we will be traveling much–Jim will be recovering from his treatments. And I have a bit of a flying phobia.
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