Then, in the middle of the night, the ghost of Robert Frost suddenly appeared on a luggage carousel, enshrouded in a glowing blue-white mist. He spoke to us:
"Whose woods these are I think I know, his house is in the village though," pointing toward the northeast quadrant of the airport. At first I had no idea what this meant, but he kept repeating the phrase in a louder and louder voice: "His house is in the village though," until at last, almost shouting he yelled:
"HIS HOUSE IS IN THE VILLAGE YOU DUMMY!"
This final outburst awakened David and between the two of us we realized Frost was directing us to a part of the airport that would facilitate our escape.
By early morning we'd made our way northeast where we finally encountered the ticket counter. We were a bit embarrassed that we hadn't thought of this before, but wrote it off to battle fatigue. David tried to charge our tickets on his ABC Visa card, but for some reason his account was closed, and so I sprung for the airfare. At least I got an Auto Club discount.
~ by Russ Allison Loar
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