Departure:
The white noise of the airplane drowns out all anxieties of crashing into the Atlantic Ocean. I look around and pick out all the Americans. Do I still look American? Did I ever 'look' American? Some say I look Greek or Italian, like salad dressing, but not American. Yet, we come from all over the world and have grown into all shapes and sizes and accents over the last 300 years. I suppose the typical American appearance is overweight and ill-dressed. But that's not true. As I wait to board, I spot an Amish family. The dead give away? Six children ranging in age from 0-14 years old. They all dressed very conservatively and weren't a tad bit overweight. Nonetheless, they were clearly Americans. We were all returning home for a short while.
Arrival:
The white noise of late summer crickets and birds buzz around me as I lay in a patch of grassy sun. Fresh off the plane. I always thought that simmering sound was the sun's rays stinging down on the Earth. I missed this noise of summer - the one that is occasionally interrupted by a stream of motorcycles or a mail truck. From my patch of sun, I see the garden fence and the faded pink pig spinning its wings. The pig believes it will take off one day, but like a gnome, it has one true home. Its feet are glued to the dirt it has always known. It will keep spinning until the wind stops.
The white noise of the the waves building high tide fill my ears as I lay on the beach. The sun is a drug. We put our feet in the water and let it suck our sorrows and replenish our cells. The sting of salt isn't a bad thing. Let it touch your raw skin and be gentle. I watch the white water reach further and further, tugging back the silky sand and depositing a seaweed strand. In the distance, a man digs his way through the waves and reposes on a raft - shifting the flock of seagulls also choosing to repose on the wooden planks. The birds hover above for a minute before swooping to shore. Tired now, they rest. Their heads tuck snuggly into their necks. They won't be stealing french fries anytime soon.
Departure:
Red Cedar Lake
You sparkle and capture the late summer sun
in a calm net of blue.
The bushes and trees frame the view.
A thousand water bugs skim the surface like a newspaper.
I'm not on my bike, but I'm here to breathe on my escape route.
I'll always come back.
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