As far as amazing places go, there's truly no place like home. After all, why fret about exorbitant airfare to far-flung locales when you can experience some of the world's most stunning sights right here in North America?
Where does all the time go? Does it sit in a plastic bin of photos, waiting to be let out like a genie in a bottle, taking me back to moments I would never remember without these glossy images to remind me?
Have I gone overboard? I know for a fact that I'm not in the minority here, at least not among my peers, but is the incessant picture taking interfering with my actual interactions, thwarting my goal of "being present" with my children?
I find myself in the evening light at La Piste, an old airfield, very near Surpiste, "the runway", which I had known from the 2010 post-earthquake days as the site of one of the largest displacement camps.