Well, it's back. Or maybe it never has gone away. Either way, though, I have been bitten. Not by the love bug, not by any creature (though my irrational fear that the families of the spiders I kill will seek their revenge while I'm aleep is alive and well), but the most dangerous-and often expensive-bug there is: the travel bug.

Last week, I took a train to a somewhat nearby town, and at each stop I thought "I should come back here, just to see what's there." I was starting to dream up new adventures today, and as I remembered past travels, I started looking at old pictures and remembering beautiful moments. I want to go cliff jumping in the Mediterranean, enjoy a lemon straight off a Greek tree, walk through the green countryside of Ireland, enjoy Fika in a small Swedish town, hear the bells of cathedrals in Italy, roam the Icelandic countryside, see the architecture of Prague, go to the English towns I've read about in Jane Austen novels, visit the pyramids, go to the Holy Land, and all the while collecting sunsets and finding new coffees to taste.  I want to see the locations of my favorite movies in the Swiss mountains, the New Zealand pastures, go parachuting and hang gliding over seas and stones, enjoy the beauty of the earth that God created and saw was good.

“The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.” – St. Augustine