So here I am. Up early, and set to go. An eight-ish hour flight (preceded by three hours of security limbo at the airport) awaits me, and beyond that, seven weeks of The Unknown.
Out the window, in Brian's garden, I see a light rain spackling the fish pond and beading on the cherry blossoms. Something big is about to happen; there's time to kill, but nothing to do.
I've got pre-flight fidgetiness, like when you're waiting on the tarmac with your seatbelt fastened and your tray-table in the upright and locked position, but not yet moving. It's been almost fifteen years since I've been off this continent. I'm excited to go, but part of me doesn't want to leave my familiar surroundings, my friends and family, and the emerging Vancouver springtime.
Mainly, though, I'm thinking how much I'm going to miss my cats.
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