I have just returned home, to the place where I grew up.

I have spent the past 20 plus years, neither wanting to come back, nor ever feeling homesick over it. I had raced away as fast as I could after high school to a distant university, 250 miles far better than none.  Even the reality of whether I would return to finish my senior year of university was at question; so powerful was the draw of the American West to my budding traveler’s psyche at the time, life’s experiences trumped structured learning in every regard within my perspective.

I was not a writer back then, nor did I love writing as much as I do today.  To the contrary, I

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Protected: Charleston Shootings, Part II – Latin America, A Model for Africa?

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