I am through gate K and my plane is number one for departure. That seems gloriously perfect. Now we have taken off.
This flight is quickly making up for any lost time (as if there could be such a thing), and although it may appear to be early to those on the ground, Albert and I agree that it is all relative, especially with our heads in the clouds. There is no loss, only gain, and the timing is ideal, all things considered. That is just it, you see, all things are considered by He Who Causes to Be(come). His work in us and through us is also a work with us and upon us, making us fully us, individually and cooperatively so. Unceasingly so.
I may weep at 9,144 meters just thinking about it and so let us turn to something lighter.
Over Idaho I swear I smelled hash browns.
Following a certain flight plan I imagine—briefly—a road trip from west to east, leaving quite early, moving quickly for breakfast at a greasy spoon diner there in Idaho. Then it would be an angled slice across Nevada and into Utah for a late lunch or dinner that Joseph Smith would be proud of, spending one night there pondering the puerile perils of ponderous polygamy, avoiding it entirely. After an early rising and skipping breakfast as a lesser attraction, it would be a lazy afternoon with some shade in Oklahoma, the land of my first birth. I know a place in Bluejacket, Oklahoma.
After that, it is all downhill for a late dinner, perhaps on the Gulf coast where the world’s finest shrimp swim freely before being eaten by something else up the food chain. Like me.
Vegetables are ideal, of course of course, as a life-style. But meeting some meat makes for a fine feast on occasion.
A quite proper recovery is needed now before a slow movement from south to north, following those seasons and living in the first bloom of spring again and again. I have written of it before, and I meant it.
There should be some movement east to west in that slow ascent, certainly, tracing certain lines of travel patiently and slowly, but the general movement shall be up toward a grand pause. Musically it will be a fermata somewhere near the end of the second movement before moving on into the third and final movement. Then: the finale.
Rinse and repeat north to south to north ad infinitum across all state lines. And what are those anyway, those stated lines?
And with that, I see that I have landed . . .