Susan LaffertyWe board a flight with passports in hand. Tickets to the far side of the sea.
No turning back now.
Seatbelts fasten. Engines roar. And this capsule we’re all sitting in hurtles forward then lifts.
Up. To and through the clouds.
Sun pours in.
I look down at the neat miniature houses, roads, fields, forests.
One last look.
Without lenses, the world is one blurry shape after another for me.
Muted colors. Fading edges. Always a curious guess as to what they are.
And along the way, signs I cannot read.
So I move through. Blind in the blur.
Something new. Blank page of another year. Month. Day.
Unwritten. Unspoken. Unknown by me.
At the open door sits fresh, white snow as far as the eye can see. Waiting for the first footprint.
Looks like hope.
