November 2, 2011
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Best sunset ever. This is why I like the window seat.
I’m catching the wings of the sunset, the clouds passing below me. The brilliant fire bursts with smoke tales of burning sugar cane fields remind me that I am still in Brazil, and not leaving this time—enjoying. Blue to green to yellow to orange, the red horizon line will soon be gone. They will offer me a beverage, but I’d rather hold on to the beauty. How can I have forgotten myself already? I’ve found the first star of the evening. I’m sure my little prince has returned there.
(I regret to say I did not take this picture. someone else did.) The clouds line up like mountain ranges I wish I could climb. The sliver of moon appears as we travel alongside the horizon, not into it. I want this forever, but keep looking down to write rather than enjoy. I’m trying to transcribe experience to paper. They announce dinner and I am surprised how hungry I am. I am flying and starving. Fill my belly with something other than air.
It’s been so long since I’ve written like this. Like me. Where have I been and why did I go? Was I simply looking for beauty? I feel so close to the little prince on planes. With the dark wing siloetted against the sunset a second star appears, but it is no rival to the first. Why don’t I have a place to lay down and watch the stars come out? I think my life would be better if I did.
It may sound horrific, but flying is a beautiful way to die. Flying in general is a romantic activity. No, not for the hectic business people being herded through the gates like cattle, but for all of us who stop and realize what is actually going on instead of going through the motions. We are flying.
The red grows more brilliant as the blue closes in. I see every color of the rainbow, shining under the moon and wishing star. I breathe in haggardly, for the beauty kills me slowly. That is why it cannot last—I couldn’t stand it. The rustle of sandwiches behind me makes my tummy ache. But I dare not look away. Must life be recorded to be validated?
Orange, yellow, and green are being squished to a sliver. Purple is looming. The colors grow bolder, but the stars stay shy. I don’t know if I can watch any longer, distractions are calling me from this most lovely evening. I wish for him once more, my little prince who has returned to his rose, with his pet sheep safely in its box.
I was born to feel things, but once I do they flee so quickly. The sky begins to relax and we pass the small lights of a city below, twinkling like a spider web in morning dew. We are flying, and not even the screaming baby can take away how amazing that is. Don’t lose the wonder.
