Cruising at 35,000 feet feels oddly peaceful, despite the din of a near-full 737. My blocked ears and the whir of the plans engines seem to have drowned out all but the highest pitch voices. The sun to the west is white bright and the sky fades from near white to the deep azure that I imagine you see in the West.
The dreamer in me can see the allure of flying, the freedom of the sky and the steady guide of the horizon always in the distance. Out my window the mass of clouds so far below protrude like chunks of ice in a frozen sea. And then patches of the world below appear like a quilt as we cross the belly of America from Houston to Chicago. Is that the Mississippi River? It must be, judging from its size and muddy meandering across the landscape.
Sometimes on a long journey you are blessed with sights so beautiful they are but evidence of the wonder of God. As our plane taxied down the runway at Chicago’s Midway Airport, exhausted by the last leg of a very long trip, I looked out my window to see a magenta sky, radiating out from the very tip of a the setting sun. It wouldn’t remain long, but it reminded me of the saying the kids and I recite while watching the sunset from the beach:
“Red sky at night
I was plowing through the last chapter of my book when I glanced out my window again. It’s night and there following me home is the half moon. When I was a child and we would be driving at night, I was the one who never slept, preferring instead to stare out my window and share my dreams with the moon as is seemed to follow us home.
And so tonight I shared my dreams and wishes with the moon, staring at it out my window as it guided me safely home.