On the way to or from somewhere.
And so I am at this moment, enroute to and from. Coursing over eight states, cruising at 500 miles per hour at 34,000 feet high. From Atlanta to Phoenix.
From the Southern Appalachian mountains to the desert. From a rural town to a large urban city.
From chosen family to family of origin. It takes at least eight states at high altitude to accomplish this.
Besides the distance of miles, is the distance of family birth order and shared experiences. While the family events may have been shared, they carry their own distance.
I’m certain when I arrive and am enfolded in sibling arms, all distance will disappear for a time.
I love gazing out the window only to be rewarded with a moment of “glory”.
And that’s what is ahead for me enroute.
Traveling mercies.
Cometsgirl 