Yesterday, we traveled for 13 hours. The Sunday after Thanksgiving: in Denver and Chicago, new snow. Friends left behind, grading in Chattanooga; mother-in-law at one gate whom we couldn’t persuade to use our guest bedroom.
I’m on East Coast time now, detoxing from a week of southern food and wine.
And now my mind is muddled, can’t light on a good subject for this poem.
I drank an entire bottle in one night?
The older I get, the less travel appeals to me in any form. Holiday recovery periods can be brutal. 🙂
Seriously, Bernard, I’ve been thinking the last few times I fly, “I wish I could take a train.” They were fun in England in the 1980s, but trains in the US don’t run on time very often.