I have been accused of many things in life... being a gypsy is one of them. I love to travel! As a result, I never collect too much dust. Whether it's mentally or physically, I love to escape to faraway destinations. R often refers to me as a flight risk. My nomadic nature has the need to move, breathe, and explore with reckless abandon. So on this oppressive grey snow day, I am dreaming of warmer places!

Enjoy one of my favorite postscripts:

"Travel pushes my boundaries. When you travel, you become invisible, if you want. I do want. I like to be the observer. What makes people who they are? Could I feel at home here? No one expects you to have the stack of papers back by Tuesday, or to check messages, or to fertilize the geraniums. When traveling, you have the delectable possibility of not understanding a word of what is said to you. Language becomes simply musical background for watching bicycles zoom alongside a canal, calling for nothing from you. Travel releases spontaneity. You become a godlike creature full of choice, free to visit the stately pleasure domes, make love in the morning, sketch a bell tower. You open, as in childhood, and- for a time- receive this world. There's the visceral aspect, too- the huntress who is free. Free to go, free to return home bringing memories to lay on the hearth."

~Frances Mayes