By now I’m not sure how many times I have passed through Miami International. Again, I’m awaiting a connecting flight…Madrid this time, en route to Marrakech. Looking out on the tarmac through the rain splattered terminal panes, a certain sense of inertia surfaced (or was is ennui due to the inclement weather?) — a sort of “neither here nor there” sense. This floating life has now ventured over much land, sea, and air; for all the unknown adventures yet another trip brings, a billowing sense of unease accompanies it.
I have left my make-shift home drifting with the tides unattended, off to chase the Saharan sun without prior planning. It seems the commitment of yet another years confines to work promoted the latest urging. Neither here more there can lasting contentment be found, but meeting with a new culture will stimulate invigorate senses to brave the year ahead.
The plane barrels east, the dawn brightens with each passing minute. Soon I’ll be wandering lost in the alleyways of the ancient Berbers.