The lights below look like great splashes of blood. Rivulets trailing from one misshapen splatter to the next.
The earth bleeding below, no one in this plane notices. Wine and French flow in and out of their mouths and I can’t wait to be away. When I land in the next pool of blood I will be alone; one blessed night of no voices but those in my head. On these night landings in the bloody puddles I think of home and I don’t know where it is. Build a kingdom before a castle, they say, but I have no kingdom, am i even a king? What else is there? Am I ronin? Vagabond? lost…
I have never lost my awe of the clouds from above. They are beautiful and expansive, covering the sea below. Sky-cloud-sea; blue over white over blue. Like Israel. Like Argentina. These flags I am collecting. The clouds look like snow to the horizon. The Alps peek out at the edge of the visible world lending credence to the view of snow to mountains. It will be awhile before I see snow again. I have been gone so long, it is hard for me to imagine that cold and snow have found you again…
Beautifully captivating as always. Your writing always makes me smile and whisk me away to another world. I love it.