365 dAys of aRt. DAY THIRTY-SIX.

it's wednesday morning
and her head hangs low
inside these airport walls
it's her time to go
and i see her staring out the window
like she's waiting on a plane
to take her from the shame
and same 'ole, same 'ole

I'm not the typical traveler. My travel-on is usually a 65L pack, stuffed to the brim -- guitar on my back, journal in hand -- waiting patiently for my flight on the dirty floor of the airport. Most times I feel like a hitch hiker compared to everyone else; A hitch hiker of the sky. I used to travel ALL the time -- any chance at taking a few days to try a new place, I'd take it. Though it's been a while since I've flown over states, I can reassure you that not much has changed inside those airport walls (besides security). The same people rush to their flights; Lovers kiss goodbye; Military men and women head off to God knows where. Children run loose and businessmen talk on their cell phones. There are the families that are off on vacation and grandparents flying to see their grandchildren; The heavy-spenders take their place in first class and the just-get-me-there people in coach. But somewhere, amongst all these travelers, you can often catch the glimpse of a desperate face. One that longs to run away. The person trying to escape whatever drab routine exists out there for her (or him.) You take notice of this person, as he/she stares empty-eyes into an empty sky, clutching possessions at hand. I admire this person. I wish I could drop everything and run to the nearest airport and jump on the first plane to Alaska or New Mexico, or quite frankly, anywhere. I miss the kind of freedom that came from doing that. When was the last time you dropped everything -- your responsibilities and obligations and to-do's -- for the freedom of spontaneity?