Heimat

Wednesday, May 16th I've lost track of the days. Our group's voice is an acappella chorus; weaving ideas, concepts and visions into one song of longing. Georgia makes me want to cry. Expansive vistas, narrow lives. Impoverished emotions tamped down by bleak villages and towns; shielding flashes of a gold-flecked smile a labor worn hand. Here men sit scanning the distance, Women weed and knit, eking small reward from visitors who may purchase goods for less in their rich homelands. I sing of The Black Sea: eating small fish on the shore, feeling barbs of envy and incomprehension at our luxury of choice. A caged brown bear languishes in an the amusement park; we eat lunch of homemade fries and pork fillets watching entwined lovers: in the woods, on benches, pressing tops of fading cars. Far from heimat, similar to my chosen home. The sun is always shining somewhere. Best to all, Cher