March 10, 2018

Bloody Mary at one airport, Magner’s cider at another, and I slept through most of my flights. One man at the Irish bar in Tampa said the whole Syrian conflict is over the Quataris’ desire to build a pipeline. Another had in-laws in Carrick-on-Shannon. Dead run to catch the plane in Atlanta; they were calling my row as I arrived. Saw the yard for the first time in daylight, the vacant place where the great pine was. I cried as though I’d lost a friend. Also, Caroline’s ugly windows now look directly into mine. I prayed to the dryad that she hover a little longer until I bring a tree to replace the one I tore from her.