I am aware of love. First of all. And most important.
I am aware of the tenuous yet sinuous band of fibers that connect us into units that we call family.
I am aware of the ache of miles, of time, of distance, of the curve of the planet that too often keeps us reaching for those we love.
I am aware of the parceling of time, sandwiched between generations as my little family makes our annual journey across the state of Texas to visit grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends.
I am aware of the miracle of flight that enables us to continue a vibrant thrilling relationship with these many points of divine light in my life.
I am aware of my annoying sentimentality as I settle back into my routines in the cold and fog of the west coast, far from my hot-blooded, hot-weathered relatives.