After nearly two weeks away, it’s so good to be home! I enjoyed time with family and friends, hanging out at the lake or visiting the nation’s capital. Did some stitching and sewing and plenty of good eating, but this initial post-holiday piece focuses on my flight home yesterday. The skies need to be noted before I get into what happened on the ground.
And to be honest, this post probably wouldn’t have emerged if not for what I saw on the last leg of my cross-country journey; I started Monday in Baltimore, heading for Silicon Valley. Two stops, one in Minnesota, the other in Los Angeles, but schedules were smooth, and I kept myself busy with music and reading over what I’d just added to The Hawk. My layover at Minneapolis/St. Paul was brief, but I managed a bowl of cereal with soy milk, charging up my phone for the haul across the southwest. Back in Maryland, my hosts asked if heading to LA would be difficult what with the fires. I said I didn’t think so, and sure enough, we landed safely at LAX with a minor two-minute walk to my next gate, providing me time to chat with my husband, who couldn’t wait to see me.
One of the best parts of coming home is being appreciated.
We discussed dinner; he had a watermelon in the fridge, which suited me perfectly. We were thankful my flight was on time; he was leaving straight from work to collect me. We noted that traveling becomes more wearisome as age steals some of our energy, but truthfully neither of us could complain outright, for his trip home had been fine, and mine seemed the same. It makes for a long day, but after a couple of nights’ rest, life returns to relative normal, once the routines are reestablished.
Goodness knows I’m a creature of habit, but getting out of California is good for me, experiencing intriguing vistas only found far away. Or up high in a plane where the scenery makes me snap shots that otherwise I’d never see. As we left Los Angeles, I photographed the ocean, the remnants of fires in the background.
The haze grew worse as we ventured north. Then suddenly amid the clouds appeared a large puff of smoke. I kept snapping, wondering which fire this was, mesmerized from my vantage point. The scene was unreal, yet all too authentic. Clouds have always fascinated me, but this was wholly different.
As we flew past, the scope of that moment stayed with me; I’d just spent nearly two weeks in locales where summer rain is common, also plentiful. As my flight passed from Nebraska into Colorado, the landscape began to alter, and by the time we flew over Denver, another America greeted me, that of mountains and high deserts, of rock and dryness and fire. These two sides of The United States possess many opposing elements, but from green to grey to startling brown, the differences couldn’t be more stark.
On Sunday I’d stood in the rain at the National Mall, very near the Korean War Memorial. Not even the trees could shelter me and a friend from that downpour, yet no rain falls in California in the summertime. I shared that notion with my hosts as we drove back in a pounding storm; I grew up to the idea it never rained at all in summer. Yet I spent much of Sunday in a muggy dampness that refreshed, also startled. A day later, that notion was but a fleeting memory. Yes I was home and glad to be so, but if only a little of that precipitation could have followed me.
As we reached the Bay Area, skies cleared some, but those images from minutes before remained within me. When we landed, I was so excited to see my husband and be back in my element, which always seems more lovely when time has elapsed. I mentioned what I’d seen, but in the exhilaration of being near my beloved, that cloud of smoke dissipated. My hubby and I had been apart for nearly four days, and it wasn’t until later that I again considered the havoc, also the majestic but haunting beauty of that image. Then I thought about this post.
This post-vacation entry was originally going to be packed with shots from the lake, some from the National Mall, with musings concerning how nice it was to get away. Today’s title was what I’d come up with days ago, jotted down so I’d not forget it. Hopefully I’ll find a minute to share those notions, although upon returning, there are revisions to complete, read-overs to do, place mats to make, some Christmas quilts to start, my goodness! But in all those blessed and busy moments, first came this somewhat scattered but vital point; our planet is enormous and so volatile. Floods destroy as easily as fire; Ellicott City in Maryland was recently devastated by saturating rains. When I step out of my comfort zone, not only am I breathing in the goodness of those I love, I’m absorbing other vistas which broaden my outlook, increasing my empathy. I’m no longer a world traveler, but America is vast enough to offer the opposing ends of the spectrum from one coast to the other. Now back in dry California, I consider standing under that grove of trees as water dripped from leafy branches until our one dry spot was gone. We stepped from that shelter onto the sidewalk across from a refreshments stand, watching as clouds passed over the Lincoln Memorial, the rain heading elsewhere. If only it could find its way westward, I prayed….