Did I see you glowing, landing just near my side, bringing me memories washed up like the tide You, dancing that well-honed tune— that...

I wait for you on soft ground as words float off my moleskin page and flowing water trickles through cracks of time and place, as...

There is a depth that keeps us close and ever far without approach It wanders across worn cobblestones, cold concrete and windswept paths...

The village was buzzing with the musings of everyday, as the rhythm of the pestle hit the bottom of the mortar—the clap in the...

I walk with sun in my face and wind at my back rocks line the scape waves crash the shore sand seeps into the cracks of my toes and tiny...

Words flow from me like a persistent whisper sharing the secret melody of a soul or a song whose perfect rhythm stays for long living in...

I once lived in a far off culture where the ceremony of arrival was full of tradition—the host breaks the pink kola nut cut into small...

Under the shade of a willing tree there he sits, young but seeing working the palms with his little hands, as his culture unfolds a life...

I met a kind man in 1991. He had travelled across a large swath of land in Mozambique some years before, stepping over the borderline of...

There is a memory of a river—long and deep—remote and isolated but full of the things it is meant to carry—in a place ever swallowed by...

The keys of the piano play softly from its strings, deeply, persistently it plays the melody of a thousand songs and wanting words...

Today I wandered endlessly along unknown paths —as yesterdays I've done before. To meet with courage the wild’s calls, to meet wise...

Mistaela Correia was born in 1954 in Gorongosa. When he was 12 years old his grandfather died. As was customary, his family made a...

The moments appear, they ebb and flow all day long—challenging us to grow they offer choice and beg a smile that deepens the twinkle in...

In the village, this chore always brings the silhouette of a woman or girl, though sometimes boys show up sporting their might. Mostly...

My story, Yours from where I stand from where you do the moon glows big and slithered and the sun rises and sets as flowers spread gently...

The village was nestled in the rainforest, over 15 miles from the main, red-dirt road that slithered the country of Liberia from north to...

You travel far away in place to know the story only you chase the slush of snow, or rain that pours down, down saturating the earth, as...

Time opens a passage for which to step through When we see one we have but a moment to choose The foot shifts, it leans and then boldly...

Funny how the world just continues to turn. While on its surface waves agitate and—though not invited—move onto sacred ground, and...

It was 1995 and a very long ride of swells on a dhow to get to the Island of Ibo, with its bluest waters and pink coral, its whitest...

I used to pluck the lines of the song and the fingers glided over the ebony chords I used to run the steps of a forgotten hill and dance...

The rains would come heavy each afternoon in this hot tropical land—mostly—without fail. And those who had—even just a bit more than the...

The hour is grey. You know—that hour when many are as you, not of the earth but floating in another time and place, dreaming—perhaps. And...