One month ago,
I purchased a world map.
Not an engrossing wall mural waiting to be tortured with pins,
but rather a timid foldout
with Europe and Africa placed centrally, Asia to the east leaving the Americas far left.
Whimsical, hand-drawn watercolor pictographs of mountain ranges, cites and countrysides are surrounded by ocean hues of blue. I am reminded of my 6th grade history textbook and smile.
At first, it just sat in in the corner, propped up carelessly,
resting atop less important papers,
I ignored its significance.
Today, I caught myself flirting with its folds, brushing a finger across Cameroon, down into Namibia. How might I traverse such miles of desert? Winter or spring? Would we skip South Africa, continue East searching out a sailboat to crew, direction Madagascar? Vietnam for Christmas?
I’m liable to stumble down Alice’s rabbit hole….