Maybe we do. In a different way.

When I go walking every day, I often get a friendly wave of greeting from Francesco. He's been on a work crew. Clearing a field. And planting trees. I know Francesco. Because he's a handyman employed occasionally by my Italian true love. He does all kinds of things. At which my true love and I are inept. Francesco also has picked me up and dropped me off at the airport in Cagliari, the capital city of Sardinia. Francesco and I speak different languages. Not much of an overlap. But we hit it off. I like Francesco's history. His experience. Having been badly injured in a horrific auto accident. Was in a coma for a long time. Some doubts as to whether he'd survive. He looks healthy now. But I'm sure he still has lingering after-affects from it all. But he seems to have a good attitude toward life. Makes the best of it. Too bad we don't speak the same language. But then, maybe we do. In a different way. --Jim Broede