I have written before about strings. We see them yet we don’t. They intersect each of us to others, crisscrossing the land.
I am sitting at MSP. Minneapolis Airport in Minnesota. Another day, another state and another city for the op log book.
But my heart is heavy. In Georgia my first cousin lies in ICU. Fighting the odds and the numbers. The doctors tell us its only a matter of time. More hours than days I’m told.
If it happens as they say this will be four people close to me that have gone to Fiddlers Green in a single month. The ties that bind are heartwrenching, and my soul is weary of this.