If flying at sunset is like looking at photos of the Caribbean (at some cellular level you feel you are there), flying at night is therapeutic, like time slowing. Calm is inevitable.
I see my own reflection in the window, powered by the glow of my laptop and the light above the man in the aisle seat reading my discarded paper. Cities seen through the clouds below your wings; orange lights concentrated around what must be a city center and all around people’s lives are happening. It is like waving to someone going by - temporary but very present. Some cities resemble a spider web, highways and byways seen in a circular layout. Others resemble no pattern at all and are sporadic and disconnected in their design. Who knows what city this might be below me.
The landscape always has lights. Even in the darker places there are lights. The towns connect, one to the next, and the next after that. Our moments, much like our towns, connect like a lighted trail across all our lives. It never quite goes completely dark across this route. We must appreciate the dim as much as the bright, as being part of that path.
The landscape always has lights. Even in the darker places there are lights. The towns connect, one to the next, and the next after that. Our moments, much like our towns, connect like a lighted trail across all our lives. It never quite goes completely dark across this route. We must appreciate the dim as much as the bright, as being part of that path.
