Fowl of the Air

I arrived in Dallas, Texas this evening to find hot humid air filling my lungs. But it felt so good. Salt Lake rain had me down.

I took my place in seat 10D, next to the window, just the way I like it. Being a smaller plane, the seats felt even more cramped. Or it just could have been my travel neighbor, who probably could have used my seat, too. I truly felt for her; I am sure it was even more uncomfortable for her than it was for me. Nonetheless, she asked me what was bringing me to Texas, and I simply said a medical conference. I left it at that. And I was happy she did not inquire further.

I began to pour my nose into my (still) current read, My Sister's Keeper. I now officially can read on an airplane without feeling the need to reach for a bag to catch my Molca Salsa California Burrito lunch. But, ah, I digress. Being so touched and moved by this story, I could not help but feel my eyes filling with tears. Not now, I thought. Not here. Can you imagine some young woman, rotating her glances between the pages of a book and gazing out the window at 30,000 feet, and wiping shimmering wetness from her cheeks? That was almost me. I had to put the paperback down.

Not here. Not now.

I turned on my iPod, flipped it to my New Songs playlist, maneuvered my hips to give them a break from her hips, relaxed against the small back of my chair, and resumed my window gazing. We were floating like a bird between white sheets of cloud mixed with baby blue stripes. And as Kate Earl calmly echoed her single, All I Want, through my earphones, I wanted to break free of the glass window, scrap metal, and overwhelming seat neighbor holding me prisoner. I wanted to fly, feel the strong wind in my brown hair, and close my eyes to focus on the sensation of flight. But I was held captive by an airplane, and by the ever alluding inevitable that I am, in fact, human. And I don't think that will be changing anytime soon.

In my next life I can be a dove. Paint my body pure white, and give me an olive branch. I can be your deliverance of peace. I can be a seagull. Color me all sorts of aging grays and place me near any body of salt water. I will be your reminder of paradise. I can be a bald eagle, and refresh your memory to preserve, and appreciate. But better yet, make me a Phoenix, every color of the rainbow, and I will prove fire is nothing to fear.

And then the hot humid air of Dallas will feel even more invigorating.