I must admit I love flying. At sufficient altitude, one may peer out the window and catch a glimpse of heaven, too much light for the eye and too much beauty for the mind, a sea, a land, a world of clouds, all lit by the unfettered sun and lying beneath an indigo sky.
How I wish to dance upon that ground that wouldn't even slow my fall, to sleep within that seeming-snow with all the substance of a sigh. It is only a dream, an illusion; at best it is a hint at what may lie beyond this life. I squint against the sun, across the monochrome savannah, half-expecting to see the mirage of a village on the horizon.
Eventually the plane tilts, and the captain brings us all down to Earth.
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