At 6 a.m., ten of us huddle in the frigid Red Roof airport shuttle to Dallas-Fort Worth airport.
A bearded Yule Brenner opens up his mini-computer. “Anyone want to know if your flight is cancelled?”
A white-masked Japanese woman in a parka asks about a Tokyo flight. A woman in a babushka inquires about Kabul.
The airport has cancelled all flights until 9 a.m.
Our 9:00 a.m. flight is still listed as “on time.”
On time. We chuckle—a collection of skeptics.
Yule Brenner tells us that only terminal D is open to ground traffic.
Two flight attendants and a retired pilot tells us that the rest of the terminal ramps are probably iced over. They explain how to navigate from D to the terminals we need.
Others tell what we know about weather in parts north. We compare travel plans.
The van lumbers on. Outside, ice, wind, and snow attack our frosted windows.
The door cranks open. We disperse, strangers in the storm.
So ends a gleaming moment of global camaraderie.
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