I have received a compliment on my bag and a free mocha. The free mocha was thanks to Dilettante Chocolate making a mocha instead of a hot chocolate for a young woman and then giving her both, so she was determined to give one away. “You’re doing me a favor,” she said.
I have a seat at a table looking out on duplicate faces on the tails of Alaska Airlines planes, with pine trees and mist beyond. A mobile of fish and birds hangs over the heads of the quietly munching travelers. A woman in a checked dress plays “An American Girl,” making her own band by recording tracks of herself on tambourine, keyboard, and drumsticks. Ah, the skill required to lose yourself in music in an airport atrium, between Wendy’s and Starbucks.
The woods I left early this morning already seem far away.
