I was more than excited … Mark had finally agreed to house hunt.
After being married to one the lead architect of Newsome, Newsome, and Cole (Mark was the Cole) for eleven years, we were taking the plunge.
I wanted away from the rat-race of The City. Mark readily agreed. He had his own plane and chopper; we could live anywhere. Mark wanted a house that was uniquely his own. He saw himself as the new – completely recyclable and environmentally friendly – Frank Lloyd Wright.
Chauffeured from the apartment to the airport, we boarded Brutus, Mark’s refitted Sikorsky UH-60 Blackhawk.
Once out of urban airspace, Mark started a play-by-play of the lakes and rivers.
The countryside was beautiful.
I was very quiet; when I had said out-of-the-rat race, I was not sure I meant this far out.
Dipping Brutus’ nose, Mark landed on a newly constructed heliport. I looked around as we waited for the rotors to stop. To my right… a crystal river. To my left… a gorgeous lake; its outermost banks still in the mist.
Gently grasping my hand, Mark helped me out. “Look behind you,” he said. “Picture the possibilities. This is going to be home.”
Written for Sunday Photo Fiction: July 14, 2019.