There is a place where the sidewalk ends And before the street begins, And there the grass grows soft and white, And there the sun burns crimson bright, And there the moon-bird rests from his flight To cool in the peppermint wind. Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black And the dark street winds and bends. Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And watch where the chalk-white arrows go To the place where the sidewalk ends. Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go, For the children, they mark, and the children, they know The place where the sidewalk ends. -Shel Silverstein. This sounds like what heaven might be like. I can't wait. We got to spend time writing poetry today, composing and dancing Ohuokai (a traditional Sakha dance and song), eating ice cream all crammed together in a big booth, challenging ourselves to only speak Pijin during our car rides, and playing some mad ping-pong. 2 more days of training! Tomorrow we start figuring out what we're exactly going to be sharing in our workshop at FOPA. Super pumped! Praying we're able to figure out just exactly how to relay this information in a way that is relatable and exciting to all of the different people and cultures we'll be sharing with and helping facilitate.