I am prone to the wander.
The here and there. The not quite, but always right now.
I can plan one thousand ventures in the time it takes some to make coffee.
I sat on a roof top last night, big city hotel, a spoken word poet. A songwriting genius beside him. I shared a chair with my boss while listening to a poem about the “Wild God coming for dinner”. Life is weird like that. How we feel all the wild and all the trapped at once.
I visit other lives sometimes. I drop in like an alien, feel like a fraud, check out again. I head to the hills. But then. When I look back, don’t you feel the meaning of each minute? The missionary from Sudan in the concourse you got to hug. The wanderer talking to you brief about the church that he feels tricked him. The way we are always pushing back the dark. Sprinkling the salt on all that which might be at risk of decay. Preserve. Brighten.
And now. In an air port with a hyacinth, a computer and five hours of reflection…don’t you see? A visit. A transport into another life is always just the thing that makes coming back to life just right.