golden gate park biker.


blogging from amsterdam, waiting for my flight to barcelona. i must come back here, to this land where even the farmers are neat and tidy. to the land of flowers and people who look like me. i felt my grandparents in the clean lines of green patches and canal from the view above as we landed. i could sense the women who can fruit for the winters and oil their woodwork often. the men must have painted those lines on the road, so straight, such purpose. it is good to have a place to come from, far removed as it is. i sense the years preceeding me, and am comforted.