Conveyor belts

An English robin greeted me with a distinctive song as I loaded the car with my luggage. Pitch black tough it was, the streetlights gave the illusion of dawn to this lovely red-breasted bird. I say English but it’s really European as distinct from the American robin. Two totally different birds with no other similarities except they both have a russet coloured breast.

Winding my way along the coast road the sea reflects the lights of Llandudno and then Colwyn Bay further along. It’s almost 5am as I look ahead and behind but see no other vehicles on the road. This is the first leg on the conveyor belt we call life. Some people do this every day and at one time so did I. yesterday I was walking through woodlands with snowdrops carpeting my walk. Hard to imagine.

I parked my car on the remote park and climb onto the shuttle bus that takes me to terminal 2. They call it terminal because this is where life ends I think. More conveyor belts that make you into a passenger so you can be poked and prodded like cattle into and through the chutes to be branded or check that you have a brand. Security has its part and the chutes narrow even further. You give up all of your possessions into plastic trays and then stand in a cubicle with your hands in the air. The man with the turban in front of me has a harder time with his flowing garb and his headgear.

In the airport lounges the food lines are jammed. More conveyor belts. Next one is the air traffic conveyor belt, another motorway in the sky really. Not the same as working at my bench in  the workshop is it?