Crossing the Bridge/Tense Shift

It’s 10:23 a.m., Saturday, December 17th.

Yesterday, the headlines declared that the war in Iraq is over, and as I stood in the airport waiting for Michael to get off the plane, there were four servicemen who arrived in the terminal before he did.  I’d been watching their loved ones waiting for them to show up, and I saw one mother in particular who stood there with her hands on her face, her eyes wide and full of whatever it is that mothers are full of when their sons go off to war and come back.  Horror.  Relief.  Insanity.  Love.   I was looking ahead up the hallway where the passengers come out when her son rounded the corner, but I heard her as soon as she saw her son.  The sister was there, too, and they were crying hysterically, wrapping him up in their arms.  It was a scene that made me wonder about the times we live in, about how much they’re like all the other times.  I don’t know.

Michael and I leave in the morning, and I’ve got to take my router and cable to Time Warner in a second, so this is the last post from Wilmington.  I am exhausted.  I am hoping there are no egregious spelling errors in this post, and I have noticed that I have a tendency to switch tenses throughout my blogs so far, so sorry about that.  I don’t personally care, but I feel like I need to pretend like I do because I have a master’s degree in English.

take care, beloveds.  Be back in touch when I’m rested and alive in the Sunshine State.



About marlowemoore

I'm a writer, dancer, and naturalist living in the Tampa Bay area.
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