I squeezed all of my journal provisions into this 8 x 12 plastic box. Inside, a stray piece of crumpled red crepe paper, brads, small brown envelopes sent from a friend, a collaged folder another friend gave me years ago, fancy paper clips, a photograph of a door knob I took in Mexico, an old roll of tape, water soluble crayons, rub on letters, stickers, labels, a whistle just in case, a couple of rubberstamps, assorted pieces of scrap, a piece of string. And other things: An old army compass from my dearly departed cousin Hughie.
Here's what's not in the journal box: a pair of my pop's old socks, a matchbox of tiny buttons Mama Moss thought I needed once. I like to carry things with me when I travel. I like to bring things back too. My water & soil samples to go in the bottles with the others. Things I will find on the bus, in the trams, on the street. I like to pick up things people leave behind. You know, stuff. Of course there are the stories I'll be collecting. Let's not forget those. Everything gets arranged somehow in my small tired suitcase for the journey there and back. It all fits.
Well… think of me, taking off at the crack of dawn. Then think of both my sister and I tomorrow evening as we leave North America and head out across the north Atlantic headed for parts unknown. Neither of us will sleep in the dark cabin as it flies through the starry sky and over the wide ocean, but we'll both be dreaming.
I'm wondering about the night breezes coming through the tall
apartment windows in Lisbon. Will they be balmy or cool there at the
38th parallel? Hmmm… plenty to wonder about tonight. Instead of writing in my journal I wrote it down here. Thought I'd take you along with me on the circuitous route through my head..one last time before I hit the road.