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.
