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Intentional Wanderer - New Nomads
Standing on the bridge, looking through the railings at the children wading in the dirty water below me, I grasped my mother’s hand a little tighter. These boys, not much older than I was, were screaming something at us, though my 5 year old brain could not comprehend it. It was foreign. Totally foreign. We walked a little further, my mother holding my brother and I a little closer to her than usual. There was music playing that was just as strange to my 5 year old brain as the young boys. To this day, almost 40 years later, I…