Last night when I got home after dark, wet and coughing, again, I wanted to move to New Mexico. Or New Guinea. My wife said no. So. I started writing love poems instead.

I don’t know about you but when I book a plane ticket I think about which way the plane is going on the way out of Seattle. I turn subtly this way and that in my chair. Then I choose a window seat on what I think is the Mt. Rainier side of the plane. Do you do that? (And do you throw a quarter in the sound on the way to the airport?) Then on the way back, of course, I sit on the other side of the plane so I can be, as it were, welcomed home.

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