This must be the place: 'Maybe the clouds will, at least, have silvery lines'
Hello from the Cantina Laredo in Terminal T of the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. It’s Sunday, 8:29 p.m. I’ve just consumed two overpriced Michelob Ultra drafts and one giant chicken quesadilla (hadn’t eaten all day). In this moment, I decided to use my layover time to write this here column for you readers (yes, you).
This must be the place: 'And I got lost where the river bends, maybe that's where I got found'
Hello from 30,054 feet somewhere above rural Missouri. The Delta flight is currently holding steady at 517 miles per hour. And here I sit once again. In motion, in real time. Onward to the next adventure.
This must be the place: ‘There’s an eagle and he keeps on flying, over the mountains capped in white snow’
Hello from Cabin 156 at Tryon International, the massive equestrian center and event facility along U.S. 74, just down the mountain from Saluda. The mountains in the distance remind me of the beauty of my home that is Western North Carolina.
This must be the place: 'It was the work of the quiet mountains, this torrent of purity at my feet'
Hello from Room 204 at The Pendry hotel in the Canyons Village of the Park City Mountain Resort in Utah. After a weekend of mostly sunny skies and lush high desert mountains surrounding this bucolic property, it’s currently 65 degrees with a vicious thunderstorm on this otherwise lazy Sunday evening.
This must be the place: ‘I don’t know, don’t really care, let there be songs to fill the air’
It’s 11 a.m. Monday. Currently sitting in the rec room of my aunt’s high-end apartment complex on the outskirts of Charlotte.
