Flying Into Mile High City

Spend a good bit of time in America’s airports.

Love flying into Denver. Plains and crops and snaking waters appear from above as circles, squares, and serpents.

And in the next glance, snowcapped mountains surround the city.

And the airport, unlike the one to which I am slated to return in Atlanta, is clean. And the amenities are markedly different.

I love to watch fellow outdoorsmen with their hiking boots, fleece jackets, cargo-pocketed shorts and pants, and water bottles attached via carabiners to their rucks.

When I land in Atlanta, the smell will not be of Rocky Mountain air.

It will all be thoroughly dark when I arrive. The rudeness will be there. And the employees will be of a very different caliber.

Lord, if you tarry, land me in the Rockies; folks here have realized life’s too short to abide the attitude of Atlanta’s clodpolls.

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