The scene: the 24 of us plus our guides, lounging in couches on Frank’s porch, filled from the home-cooked meal Frank had just made all of us; there’s a fire in the background and we’re about to devour some smores; random instruments have been passed out and we’re searching for songs we know the words to; it’s dark and our voices and laughter fill the air
All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost