Writing Prompt: When I fly I feel

 

Feeling the heat of a stationary stuffy plane listening to emergency announcements, ready to go, ready to get home with myself and a quick dinner. Hungry starting a two-hour flight. I feel the force of the plane rattling and shaking until the full thrust of the giant metal bird pulls me upward.

 

The silver-winged machine allows me to whisk through the air at record speeds to see family living in a distant state. Flying through the air feels magical and mystical. The mystery of flying. How can this big heavy machine full of hundreds of people and all their luggage be lifted toward the heavens? I say a prayer and trust I will get to my destination. Supposedly safer than driving, and possibly safer than walking, I expect the machine to get me to my destination not imagining any other option.

 

From the sky above, sitting in the rocking big ship, I look down on the sparkle of distant cars, the sharp points of mountaintops below me, the rectangle of rooftops and the tapestry of roads below. We hit the tarmac and swerve around the curve in the runway, a single passenger squeezed between two women attending to their devices.

 

Sitting amongst strangers after leaving the warm smiles and hilarious laughs of family around the dinner table joking about the difference between wafers and cookies, a smile crosses my lips as a little sadness warms my heart. Flying feels like seeing a grandson home from college and leaving ice, snow, and sweet family just in time.