From the journal
I left home with a small pack and a pan.
Forty years later I still have the pan. The pack turned pink somewhere along the way. Long story. Good story.
I have crossed deserts, slept above the clouds, and shared bread with strangers who became friends. Everywhere I go, I find the same thing: people gather around a fire and a good meal.
That is where peace begins. Not in big speeches. In a warm bowl, passed from one hand to another.
— Walter