LEAVING

"When they ask what I did well, tell them I said 'yes' to life."


[Written early, morning of departure, apologies]

Standing high on the eve of elation at 4am. So many things unsaid in answering ringtones and retapped keys. Like I love you - I love you. And the sun's on it's way toward the horizon (palely) as reflections dim in the windows and the all-brown sherriff cracks his gum and squints authoritatively. I am staring Guyana in the face, or really, more like a promised bride eyeing the house of her future husband, never having seen, only imagined. And God's good grace saw it all off with only a copy of the durable power of attorney ungifted. I suppose that'll have to do. Gate 10 is trying to slink over and mechanically nuzzle up to gate 9, whose plane is leaving soon for Tampa. I know the feeling - not Tampa, specifically, but ... I am the feeling. Both gates, 9 and 10.

The clouds have been gorgeous, billowing beauties lately, so much so that the occasional downpour becomes positively celebratory, rather than mournful. I suspect that the repetition of this mystery over the rainy months ahead may diminish my sense of wonder, but I hope for better.

Gate 9 finially shrinks away, and the naked plane pauses - unsure, really - for a brief eternity before beginning to inch backwards and on to friction, heights, soaring, changing trajectories, turbulence, landing hard and starting anew. New pale yellow frays to light pastel purple along the treetops. They're still pines, and that's still New Hampshire granite under my feet. And it's still August, at the dawn of a summer without end ...