Sky Journals

I've been cleaning out some old drawers today and enthusiastically disposing of old high school papers. Among the numerous pages of notebook paper I found, I stumbled upon some entitled "Sky Journals" - a compilation of a few paragraphs I scribbled down as I flew from the U.S. to Honduras, admiring the clouds and the ocean below me. The entries were as follows:

Nashville to Atlanta
We took off and flew straight into the clouds. As we passed their threshold, the sunrise came into view. So many colors bursting everywhere. The new sunlight illuminates ripples on the tops of the clouds, like the crests of waves in a vast sea. It looks like a shining blanket of snow. It's strange to think that one can fall right through its floor, a thousand blue and pink cotton balls.
The wing jutting out to my left reminds me that I was not made to fly. It's a beautiful gift.

Everything is golden now.









Atlanta to San Pedro Sula
Flying over the Gulf of Mexico. Breathtaking. There is a golden film of light touching all parts of the surface. It is magnificent. The ocean of clouds lingering over the water some distance off creates the illusion of a dark continent beneath me.
We've met the distance now. The expanse of white lies underneath our left wing. I can see no end. Our metal cage rumbles and rattles, but the billows below are undisturbed.
Looking higher, the soft blue sky fades into the blackness of space. I wish we could go higher.
Cotton balls. Thousands and thousands of cotton balls.
The sun glitters off my wing. I feel its warmth. A break in the clouds below reveals churning ocean waves. There is no land in sight. We are too far free.

I can see the borders of Cuba now. Desert land it looks like to me. No! It's not Cuba! It's simply the sun reflecting golden rays again over the water. Such vast proportions of light!

I can discern the ocean waves. The water looks choppy. But nothing seems to move. Instead of a violent torment of crashing waves, it looks like a blue ceiling with raised texture. Like I could run my hand across the surface and feel tiny fixed bumps.
The scenery doesn't change, but I can't bring myself to stop looking at it. So I'm not going to. Just take it all in. Allow my eyes to absorb whatever beauty they can capture.
So beautiful. Any reader besides myself is likely bored. But I find it awesome. I might conclude that it's not the scene itself which is so admirable, but the greatness of that scene. The failure to comprehend the extent of its enormous bounds. There is nothing so great as the ocean.

Cumulonimbus clouds have popped up everywhere. We are flying over Cancun. The water around its shores has a bold aqua color. Like someone spray-painted color across its surface and it did not wash away.
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The date would have been January 13. I know not why I stopped writing after Cancun. I remember seeing coral reefs in the middle of the ocean that were untouched by humanity. It was a beautiful flight.