Crossing to the ancient city of Troy reminded us of a famous story but also that even the mighty turn to dust and rubble. Sad to relate, the party was obliged to return, their hosts' hospitality felt to have been overwhelming in its generosity. Local workmen, enchanted by the fair among us had sought in vain to retain the pleasures of beauty by gifts of a sugary dark drink in striking red containers. To see and not to feel is indeed a frustration for those less fortunate than ourselves. To return to our homes was not the pleasure that it might have been as wind and rain struck out on the skins which had recently been honed with sunshine and silk, not to mention the masseurs at an ancient Ottoman bathing house.
Memories are the bubbles of experience that build our souls, as they compact with one another.
Thus shall the sowers of the seeds of experience reap their rewards and in turn spread their own wisdom and understanding unto the generations that follow.