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Coming Home

Midnight. Nearly home from Mexico on the last leg to Asheville, presided over by an older flight attendant whose Southern accent is thicker than mine. Out our window, we see the lights of little towns sprinkled across the dark mountains. We begin our descent when the flight attendant starts into the usual spiel, hoping you enjoyed the flight with Delta, etc. She goes off script. "For those who celebrate Easter, I hope you have a blessed holiday." Was she going to preach? "No doubt for some of you it has been a hard year, " she says. "We never know what the people around us are going through." I sense passengers come to attention. "Who knows? Maybe a smile from you might make all the difference in someone’s day." We land with a jolt, taxi up to the gate. As the cabin lights come on, Connie and I look at each other. "Have you ever heard anything like that?" I ask. "It was beautiful, " Connie says. ("Easter Morning" by Caspar David Friedrich 1828-1835).

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