Everywhere I’ve ever lived I’ve sought out one particular thing among others. Whether it was Riverside, California, Ukraine, Mission Viejo, New Orleans, or Sacramento, always this one particular thing. Always it is a quiet place in nature. A quiet place where I can be alone. I had many spots in Riverside. Most were established in childhood, some in adulthood, and all were some place quiet and far removed, often somewhere with some altitude, a sort of perch overlooking the din of the city. In Ukraine it was the forests and the banks of the river Protoka that cut through my small village or the great parks of Kyiv. In Mission Viejo, it was the empty early morning beach at Salt Creek or the Oso Creek trail that wound up through sunny green lawns and empty driveways. In New Orleans, I would amble around the busy and enticing streets of Uptown or the Irish Channel, Audobon Park, or The Fly overlooking the Mississippi River. I had a few remote spots to bark at the moon in City Park, with its