I'll add to this list of paragraph selections from Slow Road Home over the coming weeks, and in the end, there will be several dozen--both from the book and from related writing. Check back from time to time.
So here I am all at once, thrown into this brier patch, a beautiful place to be tossed, though I would not have chosen to get here this way. I still feel like a stranger in my own country, but less so than last month. Three months from now, will I be more content with my lot? Will I be by then so immersed in this place that I look like it, become invisible against it, evolving, camouflaged and part of the landscape myself? Will I become lost here, or found?
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