It was a beautiful morning in the temporary neighborhood, briefly captured as best as possible from stop lights, stop signs and a parking space the aviators and techies were rushing me out of, once my daughter was safely in their care.
Watching teensy little Cesnas (or whatever make they may be) take off over my car in one-minute intervals, into a sky that just doesn’t seem as rich in blue in my actual neighborhood as it is in the Sunshine State, planted Nina Simone’s “Feeling Good” in my head at a high imaginary decibel. It played on a loop right up until I started fidgeting with the air conditioning in the banquet room turned guan. And it returned when, on the day’s twenty-third repetition of what I know of White Eyebrow, I obtained the proper pace and rhythm for “The Walk.” At least it looks that way to me. If I’m wrong, someone will most definitely tell me. Many someones, actually.
I had to slow it down to even approach getting it right. I apparently also had to step out of the shot (oops). I’ll worry about the up-tempo version, well… tomorrow. But just for today, it felt pretty good.