Nov 17, 2007 01:16
I love flying, especially at night. The plane rises into the air, the world slowly fading into darkness as you ascend above the clouds. Then you fly straight on with only the stationary light of the wing making not even the smallest cut in the great black expanse. And as you finally come down from the clouds, the whole earth looks as if transformed into a great obsidian ocean. Small lights float on these dark waters, flickering with life, encompassing hardly even a percentage of all you can see. But then you descend farther, and clusters of light slowly coalesce; electromagnetic organs connected by arterial highways. Descend farther still and suddenly the world is set ablaze. Bright, orange flames dot the landscape, skittering about like a million burning candles. Still farther down you find a point where the waters have retreated, letting the cool, gray land push through. Some waters have remained, fighting bravely on in the shadows, but you can see their subtle waves as the lights above fire down softly upon them.