If all goes according to schedule, I'll be flying home today. I love China, but my heart lies at home. With Marianne.
All the pictures are in some sense or other of Caitlin.
The text reads:
Pilot to Warrior
Warrior to Refugee
This is the ship of fear which, poets feign,
Sails the unshadowed main,
The venturous bark that flings
On the sweet summer air its purpled wings
In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings
And coral reefs lie bare,
And cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.
So the plot is afoot.
You'll note that I haven't even tried to make the lines above scan. "Purpled," indeed.