I am not exactly sure how I ended up here again but: "tada" I am sitting once again, albeit cross legged, in the desert. But this time it doesn't feel profound like the Montana dance tour that was a cracked wasteland inches from soul quenching rains. Or the Lenten sands that felt noble and liturgically endowed with poetry. Nope this feels dry, and gritty. And I want some shade... seriously anytime little fig tree.
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