Traveling Again

I'm thousands of feet above a mountain scape circling, late, into Denver International Airport. In spite of an immediate future of traversing 37 gates to make my connecting flight, I'm in a very Zen place right now. I have Dillon in my earbuds, have engaged with some seductive brilliance that is the New Yorker, and raised the eyebrows of a twenty-something when my internet browser opened to the last site I was on, Porn Hub. Add a decent bourbon with an appropriate number of rocks and well, here I am: relaxed, amused and ready to begin the next adventure. 

Driving to the airport with my sister, we talked of future plans, things we can do with combined resources. Sometimes, I'm amazed at how just the initiation of travel can remove me from myself and bring perspective. 

I have an idea for a new endeavor, something I haven't had in a good while. I'm intrigued and renewed with just the mere possibility. 

The "Fasten Seatbelt" sign is on, and we are descending into a lighted city, darkened by clouds that can't quite obscure the electric colors of a reluctant surrendering sun. 

In my mind I am that sun, leaving the day with a celebration of radiance and a promise to return again.