Flying North

We are flying north on one of the coldest nights of the year, to Toronto where Temperatures rival the artic — freeze abounds this week— I look out over the Horizon line, the line I love where sky breaks land, or land breaks sky, never

Knowing why — from above the earth appears uncharacteristically ordered, Expansive, settled — yet it still amazes me the plane stays in the sky, as we Descend and babies cry, the bulky machine brings us screaming to a halt on

An icy tarmac — we have been transported from a universe of palm trees and Beaches — land beyond reaches, islands beyond islands as far from crowds as We could be — only remoteness appealing to me, the taking of a ferry to one

Island and then a causeway to yet another — until only water surrounds us, Ocean, sky, cloud — the simplicity of being, of having only what we have Brought with us, so often I wish for what could be common blessings—

Peace and love and illumination — as the stars here have scattered through a Darkening sky we can see constellations sparkling through utmost darkness.