Strata-ed clouds, small cottonwool puffs, teased out strands like unspun wool. The landscape laid out beneath; a detailed carpet. A mist softens khaki-greens, interspersed with Fisher-Price houses and tiny, shiny factories. Even industry looks dreamy from on high.
To the horizon, deeper grey with a hint of bluish-purple as though bruised.
I love flying.
Of course there’s the disadvantages… the cramped conditions, the dehydrating effects of the pressurised cabin, the unwanted proximity to strangers, having to twist one’s neck into a brand-new configuration to access hand luggage, the toilets (this needs no elaboration), the noise, the post-flight exhaustion.
And yet… there’s something magical about being suspended in the heavens like some kind of latter-day angel, with unearthly cloudscapes beneath and beams of sunlight above.
No phone calls, no texts, no email, no internet. Being unreachable for however many hours. In these days of communication overload, a rare and luxurious treat.