My college roommate will soon enter the airport-industrial complex; hopefully by dinner time, we'll be eating beef stroganoff together.
I once flew every 4-6 weeks; I once knew the Delta schedule by heart, which planes could get me home if one flight was delayed. Now I try to avoid flying.
I don't have as much time to write this morning, so let me post a poem. Here's hoping for a day of safe travels, wherever our journeys take us.
Zen Lessons at the Airport
The tarmac longs to lift itself skyward,
to fling itself free of the earth’s clinging
embrace, to shake off the cloak of asphalt
depression, to float in the fantastic
realms that stretch above.
The planes tell tales of improbable
kingdoms, castles of clouds and endless
vistas. The planes delight
in tormenting the tarmac with visions
of lands it can never visit.
The planes torture the tarmac, jealous
of its stability. They tire
of fleeing across continents, always rushing
to stay ahead of the harsh
taskmaster of the schedule. Breathless,
the planes race
from day to day, never having a chance
to enjoy the views, never knowing
for sure where they’ll be on any given day.
The tarmac stays anchored and mopes
about, frustrated by the familiar scenery.
The planes see the world, but yearn
for a friendly face and a rooted
future. The flowers bloom their riotous
profusion of flowers, even though the planes
overlook them and the tarmac wishes
for different colored blooms.