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My melancholy mind fights to control my retinas as they have now become transfixed on 5 unholy words that permeate my psyche, “Fasten Seat Belt While Seated.”   Taxiing on my second runway today, my travels are done.  Transferring my focus upwards I try to portray the illusion of lethargy in a dying effort not to be dragged into my neighbor’s all original conversation of whether the pilot was in the Navy or Air Force based on his landing.  My age 40 years under the median of those aboard this aircraft, the irony pungent as we seem to have been fumigated with Old Spice.

Another day, another photoshoot, but this one weighs on me.  My heart resting on some couch in Utah reading Twilight, or some other form of the written word only serving to remind me of my dyslexia.  You see, today is my cotton anniversary, and one of the many celebrations in my life spent looking through the retro styled sub porthole from 30 thousand feet….  Ants, by the way, you all look like ants.

Times of fiscal uncertainty lend no sympathy to many around.  For not one second do I feel owed in this market, and on the contrary am grateful to be working. Many a gifted eye dilated unused today finding a reckoning day of career change on the horizon, and for them I pray.  Still in my youth, the consequences in this world play to less risk and even offer their way to adventure, unfair, but often appreciated.

Back to this seat as an abstractly compiled cheeseburger crawls to my stomach.  Nashville is the location of the bed I will lay in tonight, and go to work from tomorrow.  Last anniversary I was the Caribbean, last birthday I was France, and the one before Indianapolis.  This is my job, and I love it… only 365 more days until my next anniversary….. or photoshoot…. probably both.

Dutch Harbor 4