Just flew in from a conference in New Orleans. Should be unpacking or sleeping or something...but I'd rather write.
Flying for work is not nearly as much fun as flying for vacations. I noticed this evening somewhere over the coastal south that there's not much I like about it other than the rare opportunity to look at the topsides of clouds. I'm chronically replacing factual descriptions for abstract metaphors so it's times like those that I truly appreciate cotton balls.
The other thing I like about a window seat is the 3-D landscape below. I saw a lot of baseball fields. For some reason, this was highly comforting to me. Everywhere I could see the ground, I could see red clay and emerald grass neatly shaped into wedges. Our own form of crop circles. Even in areas that seemed to be miles from any other civilization, there'd be a diamond. Even in these times, we can all find a place to play.
As we were making our descent into Atlanta, you could see neighborhood streets, houses curving and bending, attached by their driveways like leaves tied to branches. But there were some empty spots here and there, infrastructures of streets and lots, but no houses. Even from the air, it was clear that construction had ceased long ago because what would have been sandy and clear was choked with weeds and grass. No bulldozers or plumbing trucks. Lifeless twigs.
Left me wondering about my own lifeless twigs...cul-de-sacs that had been built in my life in preparation for something bigger, and more vibrant. What happened? When did construction stop? Out of money, out of time, or out of enthusiasm? Or simply a bad investment abandoned in hopes of a new start?
I sure would like to bring in a new crew, some heavy equipment, plumbers, electricians, framers, drywallers, roofers and finish carpenters. I sure would like to start building again.
I love the sound of nail guns in the morning.
WS
Flying for work is not nearly as much fun as flying for vacations. I noticed this evening somewhere over the coastal south that there's not much I like about it other than the rare opportunity to look at the topsides of clouds. I'm chronically replacing factual descriptions for abstract metaphors so it's times like those that I truly appreciate cotton balls.
The other thing I like about a window seat is the 3-D landscape below. I saw a lot of baseball fields. For some reason, this was highly comforting to me. Everywhere I could see the ground, I could see red clay and emerald grass neatly shaped into wedges. Our own form of crop circles. Even in areas that seemed to be miles from any other civilization, there'd be a diamond. Even in these times, we can all find a place to play.
As we were making our descent into Atlanta, you could see neighborhood streets, houses curving and bending, attached by their driveways like leaves tied to branches. But there were some empty spots here and there, infrastructures of streets and lots, but no houses. Even from the air, it was clear that construction had ceased long ago because what would have been sandy and clear was choked with weeds and grass. No bulldozers or plumbing trucks. Lifeless twigs.
Left me wondering about my own lifeless twigs...cul-de-sacs that had been built in my life in preparation for something bigger, and more vibrant. What happened? When did construction stop? Out of money, out of time, or out of enthusiasm? Or simply a bad investment abandoned in hopes of a new start?
I sure would like to bring in a new crew, some heavy equipment, plumbers, electricians, framers, drywallers, roofers and finish carpenters. I sure would like to start building again.
I love the sound of nail guns in the morning.
WS
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