Susan LaffertyAirport chairs. In the transit area.
Exhaustion weighs heavy in this middle place. This confined space.
And after the 17-hour flight across the Pacific, we mark time. Until boarding begins. For our next destination.
No longer living in the former place. Not yet setting foot in the new space. Caught in between.
Transit.
Limits. We fight restrictions.
Don’t tie us down. Hem us in. Hold us back.
The old lie seeps in from birth. All the way from the Garden. “Did God actually say, ‘Don’t eat this’?” (Genesis 3:1-7)
And asserting independence, we step subtly off the path. Veer inconspicuously outside the way of truth. Go our own way.
We’re entitled to this freedom. This pleasure.
So we think.
Morning exercise at sunrise. Walking at a fast clip, tuned in to a podcast. Suddenly, there it is. Fragrance.
Distinct. Sweet. I don’t even have to look.
Honeysuckle.
Stopping, I turn and see. Down the the slope. A riot of honeysuckle blooms. Taking over the thicket.
