For a short time tonight, I journeyed through time. Memories were the vehicle, not the H.G. Wells machine. As I walked the familiar country road, I felt gentle stirrings from my now distant youth. I waited much too late to begin my walk and swift darkness caught me on my return. I admired the slab of moon that was first to appear, followed closely by the many vivid stars. What caught my eye and my imagination, however, was a distant airplane, that slowly made its way across the blackening sky. As I watched, I felt my mind drift across the years to an old, white farmhouse.

A young boy is lying in a hammock on a spacious front porch. The sound of an Oriole's game can be heard, but the boy's mind is elsewhere. He is watching a distant plane and wishing he could leave the sleepy hamlet behind, and travel with those faraway passengers. The plane's destination is unimportant, for it is the journey that is romantic.

Now, the farmhouse has changed, and the boy is gone, grown into a man with all the accompanying responsibilities. Tonight, that man felt the same urge, as he watched the airplane's glow. How marvelous to travel anywhere! What a joy it would be to leave for parts unknown. Unfortunately, the boy's innocence is gone and the man knows to flee is fruitless. A man must stand and fight.

The lines from an old Harry Chapin song come to mind:

"Now that's a thought for keeping if I could. It's got to be the going, not the getting there, that's good."

As I finished my walk, I realized there was a stark difference between the boy's wishes and those of the man. The boy wanted to escape TO something, while the man's wish is to escape FROM it.

Tomorrow, I face reality's glare again. Will I stare it down or avert my gaze? If courage can be gained in the fray, then I shall continue the struggle, knowing I am not alone.