the twelfth day

Twelve years ago on this day I started my walk. It was the first day, it was also my birthday. I walked for a year, then I stopped. I started writing books. Walked some more. Wrote some more. Time passed. Then I started walking again. Last year, on the eleventh day, I was in Tbilisi.

This time I’m in Samsun.

My hat, which I had gotten patched while I was in Tbilisi, was starting to come apart again, this time at the rim. So I looked for a tailor and asked them to fix it.

And fix it they did. In fact, like so many things in life, being repaired didn’t make it look worse than before.

I think it made it look better.