“Eew Midnight Flyer, engineer, won’t you let your whistle blow…
Ohh Midnight Flyer, paid my dues and I feel like travelin’ on…“Maybe I’ll go to Santa Fe, maybe San Antone….
Any town is where I’m bound anyway to get me gone…
Don’t think about me, never let me cross your mind
‘Cept when you hear that midnight lonesome whistle whine.”
The (early) Eagles – Midnight Flyer, text and lyrics copyright by someone.
“Love letter to my new home.”
I parroted the line from one of the shared “daily photo website” portals that my pet project is attached to. Then, in another place, I found some kind of a Zen reference, about finding beauty wherever you find yourself.
Junket to Albuquerque. And a few images, which are here, here, here, here, here, and here.
Maybe a picture can tell a story. Maybe not. Just fun taking pictures while Albuquerque was rolled all-out for the Ballon Festival. Reminded me of times to avoid Austin, like SXSW and ACL.
With another day’s images here, here, here, here, and here.
One shuttle driver allowed as how natives would leave during the first weeks of October.
I have a single, salient recollection about Albuquerque, from a long-time distant. I lived there for a year. Dropped out of school and worked for a while. I recall a balloon festival time, on the eastern flank of the Sandia Mountains, watching as a two balloons hastily inflated the big airbags, and launched in the stiff afternoon breeze, barely clearing, probably illegally, the crest of the mountain, which is probably another five thousand feet up from the foot there, and that flank is close to that in its elevation.
Austin, TX for July 4th. Paris (France) July 14th (Bastille Day). New Year’s Eve, for the Millennial, Dallas, TX. Balloon Fest – Albuquerque, NM. All places to go and see once. I can honestly say, “I’ve been there.”
I can also honestly say, “It wasn’t really an intention.” Not that it would stop me. Travel happens to be in my blood, and I’d like to think, I do it rather well.
If ever, if ever I’m single again, I’ll sell my house, buy a motor home, and hit the open road. Sometimes I dream about it, and then wake up to the 9-to-5 once more.