… And just like that we’re in the air. It really is a miracle. I am sitting inside the belly of a giant iron bird, her full wingspan perpetually stretched wide, as if openly embracing the sky. A pink sunset burnt slightly at its edges is winking through the window across the aisle. It’s so gentle and still that it feels like the sunlight pooling in the corner of my couch at home, as if I’m still curled up in its almost-warm glow. Nothing breaks the illusion for moment but languid, slow rocking to-and-froe, which really reminds my body more of a boat. A great pirate-style sky ship like the one delivering Chinese takeout in The Fifth Element. Then I notice the white noise of air rushing across the hull and remember that I am floating in a sideways skyscraper 40,000 feet above the world I know, hurling hundreds of miles an hour to a destination I’ve only ever seen in movies and other people’s vlogs and Periscopes.
Eventually my excitement subsides enough for me to slip into a light sleep... Still aware of my surroundings, rocked gently by the plane and cocooned in a wash of guitars, The Black Keys "Weight Of Love" an unlikely lullaby... And the last conscious thought I have before an almost restful night is that maybe it's the weight of love - for the people and places we know, and the ones we dream of finding - that when we fly, keeps us tethered to the ground.
Sweet dreams from the sky, miles and miles high.