I am resting my wings. A bird that has no place to fly will soon loose it's feathers.
Coming back here and trying to find my place of refuge is turning out to be more difficult than I expected.
I rise in the morning with a feeling that I don't belong here, but if not here, then where?...
Will I ever again look out of the small window as I am drinking my Jack Daniels at 35,000 feet and see the patch work of colors drifting by..I don't know, I hope so?
My travels have always been my future, planning on the next trip was part of my day, part of who I am, or was.
Now, I watch the silver birds fly over and wonder...where are they going?
I need to plan a trip.
As I am drinking my coffee this morning, I am dreaming of far off exotic places.
I see the palms swaying in the breeze....feel the warm sand between my toes, smell the salt air...but this is just in my mind..I feel a little sad.