We begin our descent, 60 miles from Atlanta. I sit up in my seat, turn my ipod to Phoenix and pull the shade on the window. The sun is low and the light graces the clouds beneath us; a gentle touch of soft golden light caressing the billowing cover. It looks like an ocean of delicate down, collecting below me in a current of rising peaks, churning out as far as I can see.
In an instant we are enveloped. It moves me. My breath catches involuntarily, and I am silently awed by the white light that cocoons the plane. Too soon it is over, and what was a beautiful bright scene is now a gray, dark wall overhead, reminding me that everything is a matter of perspective.
There is no sensation like waking up in one country and going to sleep in another. The experience is still magical to me. I imagine no matter how many flights I take or how much distance I cover I will still be humbled by this achievement. This morning I woke in a condo beside the Atlantic ocean. Tonight I return to Chicago, the smell of salt water and distant memory of Spanish chatter lulling me to sleep.
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That guy with the Banjo must have been the coolest dude ever... great photo
That guy with the Banjo must have been the coolest dude ever... great photo
This is Beautiful!
This is Beautiful!