Greenfae's Leaves

Dallas-Fort Worth Airport — no idea of the time.

This airport is huge — and not nearly as well laid out as Atlanta’s Hartsfield Airport.  So many people sprinting here and there, and none of them seemingly have the time to direct a lost-looking guy from Memphis.

Lots of beautiful men here.  All sorts of Collegiate boys in stylish shorts or tight pants and T-shirts.  Like this cute one across the hall from me.

Heavy black work jeans that have never seen hard work;

Blue short sleeve casual shirt with vertical white stripes, not much thicker than a pin.

That one’s got side burns, and slick dark hair brushing against his full, boyish face.

His belt

Is

Thick

And Squared (With a simple, metal buckle)

I think I’ve just seen a ghost from my school years!  An unshaven boy with sandy-blonde hair and a pointed beard just shuffled by with sparkling, red-framed sunglasses pushing his wavy shoulder-length  hair behind his ears.

His face is probably too young, and a bit too sharp, but he carries with him a faint ghost of A W, fair-haired wanderer memorialized in poetry of our youth.

Now three o’clock, Denver time.

White billowy clouds, like so much smoke, hanging in the air.

For some reason, my mind wanders to S L.  I wonder what became of him.  I still look for him when I go out, but he’s another who chooses not to speak to me too often.  I guess we treated each other poorly.

There is hope, though.

I ran into C B in the store the other day, and he seemed glad to see me.  Time heals old heart-wounds, I guess.

He’s as dashing as ever, though, chiselled and sinuous and sexy and rugged, all at the same time.  He pulls back his T-shirt, exposing a thicker gauge ring through his right nipple.

Somehow I recalled his chest differently — perhaps I never really saw it, perhaps it morphed with the passing years.

Time blurs fantasy with memory to create more interesting realities.

I told him that I’d always thought about getting some piercings but that I’d not yet done it.

He told me that his girl had gotten a bit of an infection in one of hers, and he was buying tea tree oil to get rid of the infection.

We said nothing of our past, together or separately, and then he left, after saying how good it was to see me.

4:55 pm

On the ground in Denver.  The airfield features the most picturesque farmland I’ve seen since Goa.

The outlying runways felt wholly rural, as if Grandma’s horses might be grazing at the runway’s edge.

Now I see mountains in the distance, shimmering even through the haze.

Reminds me of Katmandu that last afternoon,

Eating over-priced food,

Having spent my last rupees on a pittance,

Rewarded only by a view that was second to none, a wall of glass framing snow-capped mountains that began just beyond the runway and extended infinitely towards the horizon and beyond, shimmering in the crisp, blustery air.

Through the wall of glass by my table I could see the brutal Himalayan sun beating down on the tarmac.  Beyond the sea of concrete, there were the mountains, snow-capped, silver and cut like glass.