Flying Home (Dec. 12)

It’s been several hours since I left the airport in Amsterdam, and we are now firmly in the middle of the Atlantic.  A couple movies have played, and the journey has not been too bad.  I’m sitting fairly comfortably in the aisle seat with next to an infant that seems more than happy to sleep for almost the entirety of the eight hour voyage.  Despite the relative pleasantness of the my circumstances, the way home has always made me a little restless, and I am about ready to be done with traveling, since I have been in a plane for about six of the last eight hours when I left the dark, rainy, windy tarmac of Zurich.  Somebody across the aisle lifts the plastic shield that keeps the passengers of the plane protected from the air that surrounds them.  Blue and light flood this small space, and I am reminded of one of my favorite things about flying.  No matter how cloudy, rainy, windy, dreary, or dark it appears on the ground, if you rise high enough above it, there is nothing but blue skies, puffs of cloud and sunshine to meets the eye.

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