David Wells

The illuminated face of the clock by the bed read, “3:38.” Conscious. Confused. Clear. Awake! O yah, its Thursday and I’m supposed to jet to Vancouver. Belt buckled. Keys in pockets. Shoes on. Groomed! No time for brewing coffee. Grrrrr. Notes? Check. iPhone ticket? Check. Car rental? Check. Ready! Cold and snow blankets everything, delaying but invigorating. Sparse traffic. Silent morning. Slushy roads. Departures! The ripples of 9/11 are reminders that tighter security doesn’t make life feel more secure. Belt off. Pockets emptied. Shoes off. Inconvenienced! The best part of flying. Not. 32,000 feet. 548km/hr -64C Purpose! The planeload empties at almost the identical local time we departed. Rain for snow. Green for white. Mountains for plains. Envious! A rented…