Apparate.

I’m traveling.  And I love it.  But I hate it, too. Travel days are spent rushing to the airport, being herded through cattle gates and endless walking and sitting.   Time has no meaning in airports and you lose the rhythm of a day.  As I write this, it feels I left home days go and I have no idea of time or where I am. It was only six hours ago.   All airports look the same from a terminal window and people all act the same. I’ve lost touch and am displaced.  I will get in a metal tube and wake up on a different continent and hear different voices.  You are transported, by some magic you don’t really comprehend.  But for it to work, they strip you of time and space; repackage your day.  I love the magic, but hate the spell.

Until I land in Amsterdam, adieu from Dulles Airport. Or that’s where they  tell me I am, anyway.  .