James Friedman
Dear Air Traffic Control,
It’s midnight here in Normal. Looking out from Watterson you can see the campus expanse, and skies so clear you can see the wind in motion. The billows breeze under clear skies over the dorms, the lecture halls, and the administrative sties. Spotlights luminate flags, LEDs turn the towers around you into dream terrariums that stand in contrast to the other wonders of the night. From so high up one can see the bobbing heads of souls, alone and alike, as they traverse the grounds in search of something that will always be something else. And from this room with a view, I assure you: What a wonderful place it is to land.