In Flight

The sun settles into the pocket of cloud at the edge of the horizon, ultraviolet beams bust through holes worn into the clouds by the wind causing me to squint tight my eyes. It rolls down the wall of blue and like a mood ring the color responds to it's heat. The sun must be a confused lover today because orange, pink, and purple can't seem to find out where one ends and the other begins. Embracing the blue the colors never merge, never separate, never dilute like paint into a dull gray. At 35 thousand feet it feels like I'm above it all, but 93 million miles away this molten hurricane of fire hardly resembles the beauty it's light is forming before my eyes here. The sounds of Muse breeze through my airtight earbuds and I want to roll down the window of this jet, crawl outside and on top of it, standing left foot forward, right foot dug in and ride this supersonic surfboard through banks and turns careening through the clouds like a hawk glides between the walls of a canyon. Ignoring the impossible physics of the quest, I could feel my feet leave the fuselage for a second or two wondering how far I had just passed through the air only to touch down on two feet still intact. It's delightful to discover that at the age of 37, I still have an imagination.