Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Life Vest Under Seat.


A final glimpse of the Bosphorus. I cried all the way to the airport. The taxi driver tried to teach me some last minute Turkish. In the plane to Abu Dhabi the sweet mother and daughter next to me offered light touches with henna-dipped fingers. They offered cologne for my temples, pistachios, chocolate... and finally the mother just looked at me and put her hand over her heart.

At home nothing has changed. The milk in the refrigerator has not yet turned. But I feel different.
I'm not ready to be back and I'm packing my car. I need sand between my toes.

5 comments:

ckzero said...

Go man, go!

tanja said...

some bohemians arrived in my hallway today. the message from them is that one can go a-wanderin' any time the heart feels inclined to. soft landings...

Marie said...

That holiday aftwr the holiday has saved many of us.

The Sourcerer said...

yup. with a gentle thud at the seaside. thank you.
x

arcadia said...

Hmmm. Die reaksies wat mens kry by vreemdelinge as mens so hartgebroke terugvlieg is altyd vir my interessant. Ek huil gewoonlik soveel niemand kan 'n woord inkry nie.