37,000-feet of mid-air thoughts, fingers of rivers and runoffs inject life into a contour of soiled cloth, hobo patched with greens, flat with shadowless shadows, auburn scars parceled by man’s gumption to produce and control outcomes, road-stitches lie like lifelines thrown between neighbors drowning in a sea of lonesome, windmachines sit in rank as if in a cemetery plot honoring the fallen cyclops, X marks the spot. Everyday do everything, a mantra repeated on what seems like my first true vacation, a home coming not yet experienced while living comfortably close. Friends and families take on new context with realization one’s foreign presence has impact, can invoke memories, happiness, change within state of mind; a warm welcome better than any gold given gift, a meaningful hug euphoric, a good meal uplifting, laughter absolute. Micah said this doesn’t matter, none of it does, in the grand scope of things, we’re miniscule, inconsequential in time. The point of it all is to have fun, enjoy yourself and the company of others. Triple-pained-plastic air plane window reflects this curious incongruity of big versus bigger. As flight cruising speed nears 600 miles per hour, the six-year-old boy in the seat next to me sings “Open Sesame” as he lays his head in his father’s lap.