Smoke stains

Ten days and seven thousand miles around the world later, there’s still a smokiness clinging to my peacoat. We were at a winery in the Golan Heights, and we stood too long by the post-dinner bonfire; it was late and dark and cold, we were caught up in conversation, and the woody smoke drenched us. But I don’t mind the reminder of an incredible whirlwind trip all up and down Israel, disputed territories and all.


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