Worm Moon

All of the empty hotel parking lots and empty airports are getting to me.

I want to lay on the floor of every airport that I’ve hated in my traveling life -

Pray a pleading prayer to whomever is listening to please send back the people.

I will not complain.

I will not roll my eyes.

I will not even let my feelings be hurt by their lack of respect.

None of that matters anymore.

You can have two ice cubes not touching,

you can have four hot chocolates,

you can have three cans of whatever you’d like.

Please come back.

I would give up every single complaint I have left for the energy of a full, virus-free flight.

There are very few people traveling with me today.

There is nothing to do.

Just loads of free time, which has opened up space for creativity.

Creativity fueled by uncertainty.

Colored pens and a paper journal.

A medium to document my anxiety and keep my hands from touching my face.

I can’t remember a time in my adult life that things felt like they were moving so slowly.

I look outside another airplane window and see the moon is almost full again.

The last full moon, the worm moon, I saw her out of the window of a full airplane.

She was so beautiful I almost cried.

Airplane full of people, heart full of wonder.

That was the last time I was in the air, but my feet felt planted on solid ground.

That was the last time I worked that I did not question what I was doing or where I was going.

I wonder if the last time she was with us she was full of wonder too.

Maybe she was secretly whispering to us,

“Get ready dear ones. Now is the time to be very still.”