Dawn Berkoski

I set out early on my last day in Porto, following a tale of two churches side by side, a hidden house in between, and the incorruptible body of a nun. I found them all. And yet, the most memorable part of the morning was climbing up to the roof of Igreja do Carmo, and watching the sun rise over the historic center like a bird warming its feathers before taking flight.

“Hope,” I murmured, quoting Emily Dickinson. “The thing with feathers.” That was what had perched in my heart. And now it was forever entwined with my feelings for Porto and its surrounding cities.

Portugal had given flight to my dreams. It returned me to the world of the living. I started to see color in my gray world. A path through the crossroads in the shape of a green door. And now I was strolling through those green doors instead of locking myself behind them.

Porto, with the sea-salt air, azulejos tiles, beautiful bookstores, and street art, so different from my home across the ocean, and yet reminiscent of everything I loved. It had become a part of me as well.

Before I left, I stopped at the bright green Fonte dos Leões, a beautiful fountain with winged lions facing out like a compass. I wondered which direction I would take next. I wanted to experience as much as I could, to learn, to grow, to capture this fleeting present.

These travels that inspired my dreams and birthed stories from eggs in the nest of my soul. I hope these stories reach you. I hope they nest in your heart.

Dawn B~