At home, Wishetwurra Farm was snow-covered.
We left for the airport, to visit family in the far south.
We went to the airport with signs on the ceilings.
Dawn began to color the sky.
It was busy in Boston, but the security lines were short.
Rothko and Mondrian had been working all night.
Feet taptapped by a closed shop, whose doors looked like piano keys.
The surroundings reflected on building windows.
And reflections shone on stainless steel.
What a shiny place.
After a while, we left.
Up up and away