Wednesday, March 01, 2017

Falling through the Clouds

The clouds break at around 15,000 feet.

The plane falls into Chicago. Lights are sparkling on a mixture of snow and rain. Sparkles shine on land that has a light cover of snow, only a day after breaking a record for the lack of the same.

Waking from nodding off, I look out over the city lights as we smack into the runway and bounce. The door opens and the air smells like wet and earth and the beginning of spring.

The sun falls like the plane and it is dark and I am tired and I am exhausted and I am walking and I am collecting and I am going and going and going.

And I am stopping for a bit.

Home. A few more minutes in steel cages moving about on rubber wheels traveling about on concrete streets pushing towards a place of doors and windows and quiet isolation.

Home.

Chicago.

For a moment.

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