It occurred to me at Vancouver International Airport, while waiting for a Lufthansa flight to Budapest via Frankfurt:

Language is music — especially when I don’t understand it.

My question shifts from:

“What are they saying?”
to
“What image am I left with?”

Sitting there, surrounded by linguistic diversity, I pulled out my notebook and wrote my impressions. I honed and revised them while flying to Europe over the Canadian High Arctic, Greenland and Norway.

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Now, those words appear in PicFic—an online Twitter Fiction journal.

It’s my second piece as PicFic’s featured contributor.

Here it is  → Flight 493

This blog post is included in Issue #1 of the BluePrint blog carnival: > language > place.