As I buckle down into my seat, I can’t help but wonder:
where have my fellow passengers been to
and what have they seen?
Or for that matter, what are their stories?
The man two rows diagonally behind me,
Was this a vacation or a business trip?
Did he see the same things that I did? Or other ones?
Things that may make others jealous, of the stories behind the sights
That he might have seen
The old man, the wizened veteran of travel
who has probably forgotten more than I’ve ever seen abroad
Of places that have changed names several times before
akin to spies changing identities
and other things that I cannot fathom; I can only wonder.
The young kids whom I hope, just hope,
That this trip inspires many more to come in the following years
And whom I may run into on the path of my very own travels.
That baby, who I hope doesn’t try to register a new record
For loudest recorded noise on a plane by a 6 month old;
And for whom, I hope, my blissful rock music drowns out.
My own mom, who I wonder, how does she view these trips?
Did she feel the excitement of a new destination, like I did?
Felt it, soaked it in. How vividly the colors were
the colors, of the brand new sights.
To that young new couple, and the joy bringing their love,
to other places. Places that will have experienced their budding bliss.
And increase that incredible bliss even further.
But for now, I’m buckled in.
Buckled into a harness, a harness that caresses me, brings me home.
To where I enjoy the most.