I like to look down at my feet. These days they are the only thing that looks familiar.  Yet always they are framed by new, like the long windy grass that I walked on when I walked through the first park I visited here. Or cracks in the pavement that seem to have existed many years before my arrival. This country was the country of my grandparents before they risked everything to leave it. I am just a visitor, a seed of a seed that’s long since been blown far away in the wind. And I am not a natural