Our flight was badly delayed on Friday, and we ended up spending almost eight hours at Sea-Tac airport. By the time we took off, it was getting to be twilight. Time for one last picture by way of goodbye.
When it comes to flying, the return to earth is what I like best.
Then, the fretfulness I’ve struggled to subdue during my flight is buried in curiosity. An eagerness to be reunited with my planet takes over. As a detailed view of human life crystallizes, feelings of gratitude, relief, and wonder prevail.
I love seeing the earth from this godlike perspective. Far from making me feel all-powerful, seeing the earth from a plane is atomizing: I feel tiny and powerless, but in a true way. My appreciation for the land and all that humans have created on it intensifies. All their works are marvelous to perceive. From the air, evils are harder to see, and what order we’ve built up over time looks pure and lovely.
Today, the waters that define Boston were peaceful under a bright summer haze. Workers had already left their work. Making the best of a beautiful Friday afternoon, they were already sailing their boats or hurrying out of town for a getaway.
From on high, the boats were like small herds of flimsy origami. Up close, their substance appeared, cruising along the Charles and other waterways.
Over the centuries, painters have painted many scenes like these: the escape from the confines of land to the radiant openness of skies and seas.
Taxiing along past a placid seascape: Boston, hello.