My eyes blinked open, and I found myself ensconced in a chair, a pink sarong and the international flight blanket wrapped around me, my arms protectively hugging my backpack. It's been another night in an airport. One was poor planning. Two was poor luck. This is turning into a habit. But at least it was Denver.
The birds were, of course, stowaways, presumably the smart ones who've figured out that it gets cold in Colorado in the winter, and in here there's a heating free ride with cookie crumbs. It was a bit of a relief to my psyche to wake up to birds singing after so many hours trapped indoors. Enough natural light comes through the central ceiling to let them know that it's five thirty, dawn, and time to start the morning chorus, and wake sleepy passengers.
Rousted, I brushed my teeth, glad for the millionth time I keep my toothbrush on me while traveling, checked on my gate, and came back to The Bou. Because the Universe loves me, this is what was pictured on my cappuccino cup this morning:
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