A Chicagoan, Soaring

I love Chicago, the city of my birth, the city of my youth, the city that gave me life, the city that spurred my imagination, the city that built my soul; the city that, at every turn, spreads its wings and soars!

There are many things which bring me joy, let me soar in sometimes large loops and sometimes smaller swoops. Visiting the city is one of these things, one of my greater joys, my greater soarings that always leaves me breathless for more. Sadly, even this great source of happiness has become of little consequence lately, of little meaning without someone with whom to share the wonders of "The City of Big Shoulders," its cool shadows, its warm history. To wander these streets alone is to be one of the million nameless faces who plod along blind to the beauty around them; yet set me beside an adventurous partner and the buildings themselves come alive, dance, sing, call out their names. "Look at me and remember!" they seem to shout.

Alas, there have been so many fogged-in moments in these now 52 years of life; my soarings have been dreadfully few, my involuntary groundings many. Two divorces have seen to that.

But I am a Chicagoan! I will remember how to soar! Just as Chicago, like some mythical Phoenix, rose from the ashes of it's great fire more than a century ago, I will soar again!