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Cutting through the dark, windows down, Brazilian jazz filtering through the grilles in the doors into the night. Bound feet, also wishing for escape. Overhead, the illuminated string of pearls of landing lights, competing with the moon. Jets low enough on the final approach to Dulles, that I could count the cabin windows . People inside, going somewhere. With purpose. Dynamic. Suspended. Cheating gravity. Moving away. I have been missing this weather for so long, I want to make mental snapshots, catalog the scents, file away the feel of sunburn. Damn right... it's supposed to rain on my days off. There are so many contacts I need to re-establish. This soul-winter funk that I've allowed myself to slide into has made me avoid those that keep me sane. More fresh air. Stimulation. Aspiration. Those are my prescriptions. |
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