I drove 2,258 miles for Poetry Alive! last week crossing more bridges than I could count only to arrive back in North Carolina to bridge the gap between my old home and my new home. Yet I’m not one to burn bridges and still find myself torn between the community of Tryon and Asheville. For that matter I am constantly trying to bridge the gap between the culture of Western Washington where I was raised and North Carolina where I have had a home for 10 years now. The more bridges I cross the more I realize how similar we all are, but there are rivers, valleys, and mountains between the culture of communities where people find solace. What a boring world this would be if everywhere you went was exactly alike! None of the bridges we crossed were one way. The exchange of information and ideas from people of each culture flows both ways. The more time I spend on the road the more I feel like a bridge where this exchange takes place and home becomes a place in my heart unattached to any physical location.