Greetings From Northern New JerseyI have a friend who does not entirely dislike flying. He prefers certain carriers over others, though: he likes those that allow you to dial your headphones into the air traffic control channel. He says he feels some comfort in being politely handed from tower to tower as he crawls through the sheets of air that rest on this land.
I am here in New Jersey, in that strange run up of nearly urban living. The sky is more open than I am used to, and the dialects are strange. I am afraid of the traffic, but I can walk nowhere. New York City, the engine of all of this turbulence, is a soft lob thataway. None of this really matters, and it is not the reason I am here.
For myself, crossing the state to get here, I found the hawks remarkable. The hawks glide shiftily over the Turnpike, taking turns and finding draft, majestic and overhead. What was strange was the precision of their regularity; the spread out with their territory, and for a while they became punctuated: a raptor for every five miles.
Would that I had had headphones.
All content under copyright by the author. Dancing is permitted. The strange deltic glyphs in the sand under tidal flow are a pleasure to watch in their deepening. Offer not valid in Kansas. We put it down and then we lost it. It all happens in the corner of the eye. Commentary accepted at pen@goob.com, although the traps are agressive and the pointy bits simply drip with dark liquour. We have a dog, but we do not own it. Thank you.