Newark, NJ.  February 15, 2016.

My earliest memory at an airport is meeting my grandmother in Portland at night, in the days when you could wait at the gate.  The firelight; the hardware that arrives, hugely, from the dark.  This one flew me 3600 miles through a bumpy Atlantic night in six and a half hours, a feat it will have accomplished hundreds of times over its life, and which is no less baffling to me today than it was when I was a child.  Just sayin.

bird copy

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