East Coast Travels

Though the airport was foreign to me, it felt familiar and brought a needed comfort to my morning.  It was small.  One check-in counter, and behind the currently closed security check-point, 3 “gates” that really just consisted of one medium sized room.  A single, small aircraft sat on the runway as a dozen or so passengers stepped down the planes steps and walked across the landing strip toward us.  Minutes later, I boarded.

I was in Coastal North Carolina flying out of a small regional airport.  But as I sat in my window seat, the seat next to me empty, my thoughts wandered.  In my mind, I couldn't have been further from the east coast.  It was raining.  More specifically, it was sleeting.  Our travels became delayed as a pink misty fluid was sprayed over the plane to prevent icing.  My window was blurred from precipitation and all I could really make out was a weedy runway and evergreen trees.  Low fog further dampened my view and as we took off, we quickly flew above the cloud layer.  As I stared at the gray cloud, I was happy I couldn't see whatever broken landscape lied below us.  I stared at the gloomy clouds and let myself dream.

I was back in Alaska.  Below the clouds was the cook inlet, a highly productive body of water unknown to most.  We were flying over expanses of untouched wilderness.  Spruces and birch, moose and porcupine, boreal chickadees and redpolls.  Yes, I was leaving from the Kenai Peninsula, that small dusty airport flying Era Alaska, an airline that serviced all the remote communities across the entire state.  In my mind I pondered…. Where am I traveling to?  The possibilities were limitless....

As clouds lifted, I was brought back to my reality.  I was traveling to Atlanta, Georgia.  The landscape below me transformed.  I saw pine trees in rows that were clearly planted, lakes in perfect squares, and housing complexes that appeared endless.  In my mind though, I stayed content in Alaska.  As I stared mindlessly out the small window, I imagined vast expanses of tundra.  Caribou herds as large as those housing complexes.  Small ponds called kettles and rivers that carved the landscape effortlessly.   From my eyes, I envisioned the view I longed for.  

I closed my eyes, and I stayed there.