A man would be found sitting at the water’s edge, a freshly lit Churchill comfortably wedged in the corner of his mouth, alternately sipping a cheap pinot noir and an undetermined red from Cotes de Provence. It was stupidly warm for a day in March. Flip-flops, shorts and t-shirt made up his attire. The sun beat down on the still water, revealing numerous white bellied frogs that had failed to survive the previous winter. The man’s silver hair reflected off the computer screen. His white beard was neatly trimmed, quite at odds with his overall appearance. It was the perfect kind of afternoon to reflect on the passing of yet another year. There was no sadness, no anger, no frustration. The man felt a calm that went beyond the warm glow of the spirits he was consuming. Much had been accomplished to this point. Strange and exciting new countries had been visited. Many friendships made and renewed along the way. Pathways explored that only a few short years ago seemed beyond reach. He had no doubt that the future held even more unusual and interesting secrets yet to be discovered. Life was good. He meant to leave a distinct and definite mark on it. Pura Vida!
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