all the places we won't go to
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Tonight I definitely realized that there are thousands of place I will never get to visit.
It's January in Ohio, cold and dark and the world has collapsed in on me. My dreams of travel to exotic places seem like the thoughts of someone else. A brief brush with early impending death, limited resources and imagination and a collapsing will strand me where I stand. Cold and alone I wait for Spring in my own backyard.
Light lunches on trains are no longer imminent for me. Hopping a plane to travel a fast thousand miles in six hours for some sightseeing is no longer foreseeable.
Venice and it's narrow alleyways between canals, St Petersburg museum tours in frigid Winter or Istanbul during Ramadan are no longer in my travel fantasies. Cold and alone I wait for Spring to come to my own backyard. Give me a clear night and I will watch for meteors and discern the subtle colors of distant stars during super nova. Sitting by a crackling campfire I will imagine candles flickering in Hagia Sophia in Istanbul or the squeak of oars under the Rialto in sinking Venice.
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