Flights of Fancy

A couple of days before the whirlwind trip to North America, Baka and I were out walking during that twilight moment where the sun gives off that deep orange glow like that flames of a fireplace; not complete darkness, yet Venus’ could be seen as bright as a spark cast from that same fire.

A week later I find myself on a flight from Salt Lake City to Toronto via Chicago. Stuck in the in middle seat between an older pudgy woman on the aisle seat and a young lady by the window. The cabin is warm, I’ve removed my woolly sweater, and I have the personal air vent blowing full on my face as I nod off now and again, the time zone changes between France, California, and Utah only just now syncing back to normal.

The older woman to my left is wearing too much make-up and I am thinking “oh Buddha, don’t let her slime me, I won’t be able to get it off my beige shirt”. Thankfully she concedes the armrest giving me more room to breath. The young lady sits quietly listening to her iPod and doing a crossword.

The day at 35 000 ft is bright and we’re flying over a completely smooth layer of cloud as far as the eye can see. The young lady pauses for a long while to look out the window.