An itinerant soul is what I have. Roots are the bread and butter of trees, not humans. In my homeland, safekeeping a newborn's umbilical cord is customary. For reasons I won't bother to explain here, my umbilical cord was lost. Some believe that if a newborn's umbilical cord is lost, he or she will be rootless and shifting from place to place until the end of his or her days. So far, the story rings true to me. In my thirty-eighth year of life, I moved for the twenty-ninth time. And I already know there will be a thirtieth move in my forties. Though, here in Val Pellice, I sense that I may finally be able to put down some roots. Cradled by clouds, I begin a new chapter. I solely offer a silent and nebulous passage. "Here's a lifeline" said the cloud, "hold on to it, come along and see what I found".