She went to Reykjavík when she was twelve, that was the start of it. Her parents took her. For reasons passing understanding they let her stand on the lip of a volcanic vent and look into it. "Down there? That's the Earth burning," her Father told her, both of his index fingers fed through the belt loops on her pants.
In college she did Europe, like you do. She stayed a little longer than many, left a little bit more of herself behind than most. After graduation she did India, and instead of coming home she went on to Bangladesh, then up into Nepal. That's where she met my father.
He followed her to Cairo, then Alexandria, as enchanted with her as she was with the world. He took the picture half an hour before he gave her a ring he bought at a bazaar that morning, while she slept.