02 February, 2006
expecting to fly

a couple of weeks ago, i was making my usual tail-between-the-legs sojourn to work... every mile ticking over on the odometer, another exercise in dread.

that's not exactly a "new" feeling. it's one thing to have to work--that's a "given". it's something else to be required to drive through a third of the state of Virginia to do it.

consequently, my senses crackle for anything to break the monotony of going through the motions of dodging less-than-skilled-or-considerate drivers, the same predictable imperfections in the road surface, the eye in the back of my head scanning for blue lights and black-and-grey prowlcars.

somewhere close to the non-city of Remington, i saw what i thought was a familiar pattern in my periphery, close above the tree line... or else, i was hoping, anyway. what i thought to be a heron loping through the grey sky was, in fact, a fucking buzzard. and it bummed me out.

as gawky and impossible a figure as a heron is, something about being aloft transforms this ex-dinosaur (no apologies, Creationists) into a thing of grace, and beauty. and, being as superstitious as i can be, i usually take it as a sign of good fortune. maybe that's why i haven't impatiently removed the Japanese crane (a relative) from this blog.

i don't harbour the same feelings for buzzards, however. considering the chain of events at the Gulag in recent weeks, it seems like prophecy still works, too. carrion-feeders. kinda like middle managers (there's a journal entry in-the-works, there).

i could almost forgive the buzzard, and the portent, simply because of it's ability to fly... disconnecting from the grey asphalt tether and the lowest common denominator of highway appeals to me, to the core.

and exhorts me, constantly.

like last Thursday morning, putting northern VA in my mirrors....

...just as i was by-passing the swoop-and-Finnish/oriental-architecture of Dulles, the xm chided me with a tune by JetsOverhead. just as coincidentally, last night Q-And-Not-U berated me with "LAX", at exactly the same location.

with an additional hour-plus of navigating to do, i pondered these flights of fancy... and how inseparable things moving through the air are from my every day.

eons ago, whenever a concert or gallery show would lead me to DC, i'd make my way to the wayside at the end of the darkened ReaganNational runway (even before it was branded that)... there, i'd be washed in the white noise of braking turbines and wings slicing the soggy Potomac atmosphere, the arcing-and-approaching landing lights over Rosslyn akin to a CloseEncounters display.
barring that, i'd make the out-of-the-way loop to Dulles, on the way back home... if nothing else, to take in the interesting patterns of little blue runway lights demarcating the landscape.

when a destroyed relationship and the lure of alternative radio led me there, to work, each step out of the back door, into the parking lot would be punctuated by final approaches and "GhettoBirds" (fitting name, Andria) that spotlighted that VietNamese/Honduran NorthernVirginia neighborhood nightly, the cop in the air.

the same thing applies, now, when i am constantly exposed to the string-of-pearls impression of dozens of landing lights lazily looping low.

sitting here, right now, there's the possibility of errant skydivers overhead, deposited by the little airport across the road.

i'm gonna be up there, soon.
not with grace, or beauty...
...but i might be looking for it.

(i just re-read this... and expect a visit from the Alliteration Swat Team at any moment.
i'll miss You, if apprehended!)

.