Westward bound.

 This was my last view of the French coast today.

Despite the pale-shade-of-'68 révolution convulsing significant parts of France, I was able to make it out of the country without incident (if you don't count the oddly aggressive X-ray security person I ran into at Charles de Gaulle airport).

As the sun set over New York, I looked out the window, and the first thing I saw was a baseball diamond.   The French teenagers in the seats behind me were incandescent with a (contagious) glee.  There was the Etats-Unis, indeed.  I mentally agreed with them wholeheartedly when they said the week is going to fly by...The plane banked, turning into the black, and I then saw the enormous full moon, casting its endlessly long shadow across the rumpled, wrinkled dark sea.  It really was magic. 

And I can't wait to get out and walking...