Historian Daniel Boorstin documents a momentous shift that occurred in North America in the nineteenth century: we stopped calling people who went on trips travelers and started calling them tourists.
Traveler literally means "one who travails." He labors, suffers, endures ... A tourist, not so. Tourist means, literally, "one who goes in circles." He's just taking an exotic detour home.
they have traveled, I think
dropping down on familiar soil
wind turned as they landed,
swept in from the north
a new thinness, a sparseness,
grief, joy, sharpness,
clarity, wisdom,
pruned, honed, tested, poured out
returning
perhaps we have traveled as well
to the brink of life
to watch it spill over the banks
emptied
returning mute
for what did we see
but a fading
mystery
returning shaken
for what did we see
but a glory
within the fading
returning to a table
after a long summer silence
we ate together
laughed, remembered
singing, speaking
praying, waiting
we come back changed
travelers
returning
come to the table that he's prepared for you
