On Holding Patterns

It is a regular occurrence that I will stare plaintively into the blue-soaked and cottony afternoon with the peculiar notion that this day will almost certainly be my last - and this moment the final, colorful glimpse into a place I could never categorize... a place I could only dwell upon and live in mostly removed, at a bewildering distance - a place through which I could traverse countless miles in reverie, but a place which remained hopelessly foreign.