about a corner in D.C. and a snow globe with golden flakes

Being used to a lot of running around I find myself feeling like a prisoner in the 3 divisions of my cubicle at work. I find my third eye (as if I knew about it) blinded by the cold light of the lamp over my desk. My body cries for movement, as it stays glued to the chair that never sees the sunlight.

And even when I consider myself blessed for having a job and being able to enjoy little economic freedom that very few can say they have back home in my San Salvador, my heart longs for freedom.

A dream of days full of art comes to me after each problem solved at work. The me who knows the reality of a life in the third-world tells me to be thankful, but the me who dreams of travels, art, and the passion that comes with little things in life tells me to run for my life. To run and just be myself.... wherever I'm standing.

And so I stand here, in front of a little snow globe with golden flakes, and moons, and stars, and musical notes dancing in the water.... and think of times I've been myself somewhere else. And I'm a stranger somewhere else, but that's so familiar to my soul that it almost feels like home.

The little snow globe has the Capitol Hill building inside.
I remember getting the souvenir in a corner of that city in the middle of a Saturday morning when the sun was quiet and the wind played with my hair. And I remember feeling home.

So the little snow globe helps me through the days in which I can't run free. And reminds me there will come times when I'll be home in a place where the wind will want to play with my hair.