Colors in the sky

The sky is a distinct hue of pink in the morning flowing like silk over Charlottesville.  And a thick mist settles around the worn old peaks of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

I hone in on vey simple thoughts when everything feels just a little too significant.  It’s just a flight after all.  Just a flight.  Just a few hugs goodbye.  Just a few plastic bins shoved into the corners of borrowed basements.  It was a dream and then an exhausting point of focus as we spent our evenings on online work, trying to build some kind of platform from which to fly.  My mind pushes all of these things out in favor of sleep and menial observations about the morning light over Charlottesville.   Just a flight.

To be honest, It’s beginning to feel almost ordinary, this come and go and come and go.  Sometimes I lose track of which is which.

But then again… not SO ordinary.  After all, I had created a new kind of ordinary this last ten months.  I had created an ordinary that consisted of letting receipts and scribbled notes collect on the kitchen table of my disorganized rental and setting a weekday alarm clock for 6:50 am.  An ordinary that allowed me to become comfortably part of a community, watching children tackle those first lessons of their lives and learning what each of their little hugs felt like specifically.  Stability.  Belonging.

The last few mornings I’ve woken with nervous excitement.  Travel feels new again.  I will miss all the beautiful relationships that came out of my time of stationary life, but that is all part of the come and go lifestyle and that is all part of what makes travel feel novel again.  It’s a risk and it’s strange and it’s exciting.  It’s addicting.

Now I’ve let my thoughts get too meaty.  I meant to just focus on colors in the sky.


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