I have said my goodbye to Las Galeras, to no one, but to the View of Mona Passage, the land and gardens, to the sweet Thelma dog, and Norton and Trixie I left behind: to no one person though, no human being could I trust with a simple goodbye. I did leave people I wanted to touch before leaving, a final farewell to a place rural and wild, populated by sweet country people and the expats who prey on what they can to survive. I am in another place now, and while my step is light, my core is changed, and hardened. I do not worry how to spend my day, but how to act towards others. How to react to others. How to speak again, from somewhere besides the pain and fear and disgust that churns up every so often, the one too many without the benefit of Monkey Drunk. the butterflies with steel wings that shred the linings of their cage. While my view has changed, both externally and internally, some things remain the same. Some things continue to happen, like the sun rising soft and early, the breeze with a different smell, the sounds raucous, the stars trying to peek out, but never the same again.