For as long as I can remember, I have been captivated by clouds. No doubt this love was greatly enhanced by the fact that I grew up in the American Midwest, where some of the most spectacular cloud formations in the world are the daily norm. Hours upon hours of my childhood and teen years were devoted to lying on the ground or sitting on a high vantage point, watching everything from cotton puffs to monstrous storm cells move overhead.
We had arrived at the airport two hours before our flight, like you’re supposed to. The trouble is that with a tiny regional airport like Springfield, getting through security takes next to no time, and we found ourselves with an hour and a half to sit and wait.
Once again, Amanda seemed completely calm and relaxed and I was trying desperately to imitate her, even though my mind, emotions, and internal organs were churning.
Travels
I grew up a nomad, wondering as I went,
With backpack over shoulder and shoes well spent.
I've seen Mesopotamian graveyards where dust fell from the Ishango Bone,
And trudged Mediterranean shores where Nap found the Rosetta Stone.
There's nothing like old Stonehenge at the midwinter heirophany,
Or late noons at Giza, shadows long like Modiglianis.
The snowflakes carved in Moscow are each a precious little fractal.
Who's tasted cacao where Aztecs toasted their own Quetzocoatl?
"At last we arrive!" the Pickler did cry
as he reached the top of the hill
and brushing a tear at the edge of his eye
he called for his men to be still
"At last we arrive! I'll say it once more,
for here is the place we have sought;
at last we arrive! I'm perfectly sure
that here's where the map has us brought."
The Pickler's job was once in a place
where he pickled his pickles all day
till a map fluttered down and flapped in his face,
and did take his poor breath all away.
I remember that it was a bright night. The full moon cast ghost-like shadows of leaves and palm branches onto the hard-packed sand and coral road. On any normal night of the year, I would not have ventured up there. The trees of the jungle were tall and dense and silent, and seemed to harbor everything in the way of nocturnal creatures that my ten-year-old mind could dream up.