Nightglow Window

Ebb Tide

Fidgety, awake at dawn, with dreams of doing six things at once still running though my head, I realize how spent I am, both emotionally and physically. I hope no one tries to engage me with anything remotely serious today. I just want to chill and recover.

I post online and pack, drop off my luggage at the front desk and head out into the hot Florida sun, which is now finally a blessing. It's 11:00 a.m. and my flight isn't until 7:00 p.m., so I have a lot of time to kill. The Rosen Centre pool is huge and quiet when I arrive and I sack out for a dangerous hour as the sun fries my chest. Vicki V heads out later and it's nice to have company. She's running droopy too, and this is a girl who's enthusiasm is unflagging. We float and talk until around 3:00 when we head over to the airport.

I spend 15,000 United miles to upgrade to first class, which seemed rash at the time of check in, but brilliant just an hour later as piles of piles pile in. At least the WiFi is free.

The flight is smooth until Texas, when I spot flashes in the night sky up ahead. Lightning crowns the Cumulonimbus, reveals them in staccato bursts. It's beautiful until we fly closer and then it is terrifying. We enter the clouds and the plane shakes violently, rises and falls precipitously. My Heineken slops into my lap so it looks like I've had an accident. I still might. Outside the window, lightning arcs nearby, close enough that you can hear the crack, imagine the sizzle. Suddenly I feel each of those 34,000 feet beneath us. I don't think I'm a fearful flier, but my heart is racing as I begin another lengthy conversation with God. Fifteen minutes later it's all over and a few hours later I'm in my car near LAX, bleary eyed and weaving down the freeway, trying to stay awake.