A phone call in Aurora, Illinois

All I can think about is Christmas
Not the gifts
not the joy
not the elves
or girls or boys,
but the air...
that quiet air
that cold, wonderful rush,
but it's not fair
thinking about the air
that's blowing cool somewhere
somewhere else.

This is not a singular thought.
It's not about a holiday,
though, it's not about not.
It's more, a thought about where it was
the night before walking to my plane,
where I was before I landed
after fighting and taking blame.
It's about sitting in my car
being too worried to call
taking slower steps over the ice,
but not for fear of a slip or fall.
Slower because I didn't want to face it.
I didn't want to face it.
No, not at all.

But, I got on my plane
I took my flight
and for once I was far and on my own.
I was barely there
before I recognized
that I felt more than distance away from home.