Going Days
Off to the east, as I stand on my porch, I can see the waning crescent moon, with Venus hanging just below it, in the dark morning sky. Some low clouds are passing by and the sky is just beginning to light as the planet turns us to face the sun. The little wren is still asleep in his cubby hole on the porch pole.
Several planes are making their way to somewhere, and I remember the days when I was up there, heading to a convention, heading to a meeting. I liked travel. I liked going. Of course, it wasn’t always that way. Right out of college, flying terrified me. But one day I thought of my uncle who was a waist gunner on a B-17 and flew missions over Europe, and I realized how much easier I had it. No one was shooting at me. Compared to his flying, my flying was a breeze. So, I chilled.
Now I’m at the other end of my journey. My flying days are nearly done. My uncle is gone. My dad is gone. My brother is gone. My mother is gone. Friends are gone. There’s lots of going, going on, with people shuffling to the eternal exits. I’m getting a hint that nature might be tired of us. Oh, well. I’m not tired of nature, and I’ve got going plans of my own and they involve a modest amount of flying, which I still enjoy. So, I guess we’ll just have to see how it all goes.