**I will do my best to keep you, my wonderful reader, updated on my goings-on in Manhattan. I will actually write rather frequently given my solitary status and the wealth of adorable coffee shops to sit and ruminate in…**
As I write, the sun is seen only occasionally as we dip in and out of clouds. During take off, just as the sun was rising, it was like flying through golden gossamer. (ahhh… waxing eloquent.) All the lakes, dwindling to puddles, were screaming sunrise orange in my eyes. I want the color in a can- but unfortunately not even Behr can package that radiance.
“He makes the clouds his chariot and rides on the wings of the wind.” In Indiana we often see beauty, but not so often grandeur, and rising through mountainous clouds, my breath was stolen by the thought of how BIG my God is. “He covers the sky with clouds.”
In other (more frivolous) news: going to the airport now resembles checking into a concentration camp. Denuded of my shoes, jacket, purse, necklace, watch, and carryon, trudging slowly through the line, in the grumpy silence that non-morning people inflict, I couldn’t help but grimace. What idiot first decided that smuggling weapons in stilettos and jewelry would be a good idea?
Oh, and apparently my Mac Book, “Bob,” looks like a terrorist threat.
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