by Cynthia Bargar
Sleeping bagels tucked into brown paper beds and free Boston Globes and Wall Street Journals greeted us. I chose Globe with its smoky volcanic Icelandic ash smothering Europe, halting air travel. We shuttled smug…
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Afterimage
by KT Thompson
When the airplane crashed in the meadow, I was on a walk to look for birds. My torso a crosshatch of straps: binoculars, camera, sling with water and treats for my dog, the leash.
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Points of departure
by Simeon Hunter
Airports are a special kind of space. Architecturally they may be, like churches and fire stations, iconoclastic, singular, without reference to their context. Which is good because a context is one of the things…
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