flying

this is the moment we are no longer stationary earthbound creatures chills down my back and my arms even though this is nowhere near my first time. I hug myself, lean my head back, close my eyes because as the engines start gaining power as the roar grows louder in my head even though the sun shines through to my window seat I know there is nothing to see now only to feel. and never have I felt so comfortable at home perfectly content as I do now, wedged into this corner with a hot coffee and oh, now a stain on my white shirt (but I am past the point of caring) and a book I wish I could focus on and a view of Creation both God's and man's. because first we fly toward the sun's nighttime retreat where there is nothing but ocean and tiny specks of white crossing the vastness and a chunk of Earth appearing suddenly and this is God's Creation. and then we bank and we are facing the mountains dusted by God with powdered sugar (or maybe snow) but just below me is my surprisingly small world and I can make out tiny houses and even tinier cars and the freeway and the city that I thought were so huge and this is man's creation. but this creation is ugly, a scar, a blemish tiny compared to those mountains in the east and that ocean to the west so I slip away and now I am in a hostage situation in a South American country my pulse racing while another part of my brain wishes it could write like this and I look up from my book to dream as I watch from inside this miracle that is a small pressurized metal container that somehow stays here thirty thousand feet up in the sky above the trees above the mountains (on whose peaks it seems God's hand must have slipped as He dusted them with sugar/snow) above the clouds (the smoke from my grandfather's cigars, frozen in time) and I think that there is no place better than this corner into which I am cramped because here is a miracle and here the world is the possibilities are I am beautiful magical infinite.