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One thing true of all people, anywhere, who move from place to place: in order to go, something in us has to stop. To speed up, we slow down. To connect with what makes each of us real and unique and rare, we become one of many for a little while — one of countless weary travelers, one of many faces at the window.

The key is to look for the poem in the tilt of baseboards under our feet, and in the sun sparkling off rooftops and rocks as we hurtle past. For a little while, we’ve got little else to do but to observe, both inward and out. And for a little while, it’s enough.

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