Mi Regreso.

The dissection of Rip Van Winkle's morale brings out several alluring traits. For starters, the henpecked husband that he was, he probably couldn't have spent the heydays of his life in a better way other than snoozing under a friggin' tree. Making himself unavailable to the rest of the world was probably the greatest benevolent task he accomplished in his otherwise mundane life. While he was dreaming of the great pig in the sky, the world turned over and around several times, bruising and wounding itself on its way. For all those years, like a diplomatic speck of water does on a lotus leaf, he established his existence. What better way to drag oneself into the pages of legend and folklore and be reminisced by the succeeding era!
Unlike anything aforementioned, reasons for my departure from the emerald pond was utterly inconsequential. Let's just say that I broke my pen, and it took a while to fix it. And now I'm back. Mi Regreso.