According to the post count, I've written over a thousand ephemeral things. And yet, only when considered as a whole are they rightly called ephemera.
Even the smallest parts of a life look to (and require) the fullness of a life in order to understand their role in the scheme of things. βιοσ.
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Separately, one regret from the last Balkan trip was that I didn't get up into Moldova -- the old communist-era flats looked fascinating. But based on the response rate compared to those in the more prosperous countries surrounding it, it appears that the Polish name did me no favors. A bit like the American Midwest, perhaps.
And I was also tempted to break one of my cardinal rules and enter a country at war -- Odessa, etc. But I kept on piste. More's the pity.