Wish You Were Here

Walking back to the Fort today, I noticed a chopper overhead. It was low enough that I felt its roar in my fingertips and far enough away that I couldn't make out the writing on its army green side, a veritable springboard for my imagination. My mind leaped to an image of ceaseless government patrol, a country overrun by foreign soldiers, tanks and bombers as familiar as bicycles and UPS trucks. I pictured the convent exploding into bricks and broken glass.

Maybe it was something about the sun in my eyes. Or maybe it's a million people sending me ESP, the terror of humanity bursting through the neat seams I've stitched to separate myself from our collective consciousness.

I think of my secure 12x12 existence in the Fort, my daily stroll through quiet leafy neighborhoods, my blueberry pancake world where my biggest worry is the workload of my 20 Grand education.

I think of the places I'd rather not be today--Afghanistan, Gaza, Georgia, Tibet.

Wish you were here.