Taking Off

Sacramento International Airport.

At least, I think it's an international airport--I know there are a couple of flights to Mexico each day, and maybe one to Canada. That's about how international we get.

And now, cleared as a non-terrorist and with my shoes back where they're supposed to be, I'm 100 feet and 60 minutes away from take-off. I also have 4 quarters in my pocket, quarters I hope to turn into a fortune during the hour layover in Las Vegas. Across from me, 2 men out of 3 are talking on their cellphones. The woman behind me is texting on her cellphone. The man a few seats down from me, his sunglasses on and a toothpick in his mouth, types on his computer. We are all connected to the wireless world, nothing in our lives more important, apparently, than our connections. If we didn't have modern technology, how modern would we be?

On a bike ride a few days ago, I watched a buzzard not quite get out of the path of an oncoming Chevy pick-up. I watched as the buzzard flapped its wings, banked left, but didn't have the needed altitude. At this airport, planes taking off occasionally "encounter" birds, which from what I've heard is not a good thing. (As I look through the airport's large, clean windows, I hope the birds will be napping until my plane is above their glidepath.) I thought it somewhat ironic when I saw the buzzard fall to the asphalt: an eater of roadkill becoming roadkill itself. Riding the same route today, I passed the buzzard again where someone had moved it to the bike lane. How respectful. The bird--large and brown and oh-so dead--hadn't been touched by other buzzards. I wondered if there is a buzzard code of ethics: eat anything but your own kind.