i'm so high

It was a gorgeous day to fly.  The skies were clear, the mountains in crisp attire thanks to a fresh coat of snow.  Funny how even a dust of white defines the terrain, etching every crevice with detail.  I revel in the perspective stock-piled from flying above.  Above the city.  Above the rivers and forests and fields.  Above the mountains; peeking down at life below.

The seat I had blocked my view. 

Instead, I concentrated on the intricacies of the wing with its flaps, ailerons and other things that go up and down, controlling functions. 

Peering over the wing, a craggy mountain sat like a big fat vanilla ice cream cone with a bite taken out of the top.  You half expect the frozen concoction to start dribbling down your hand, only to be caught by a paper napkin.  But, it’s a mountain full of magnificence, rather than a childhood treat.

Rivers, muddy from spring rains snaked their way through wet fields, showing green sprigs and sprouts; some planted, some tilled, some dormant. 

I’ve never had a desire to climb mountains, but I do fancy immense, cosmic views.  

That’s what you get from heights.  You can see more, see further, see extreme; rather than standing in one place, looking at your feet or the steps you’ve already made.  A vantage point gives a perspective that you don’t get from any other angle.

I want to have a life-sized perspective.  One that’s not boxed in, sheltered, protected. 

It’s a little scary, this high vantage – vertigo can take over, get you dizzy and off balance, but then so can too many glasses of wine.  Do we stop imbibing?  Heck, no. 

How do I keep my balance, up there on the ledge, walking on the edge?  Don’t look down, fear will grip you, and send you topsy-turvy into a headlong spin.

So I watch the checkerboard fields stretched out before me and take another step on the ledge, while out my airplane window, I see the wing doing its stuff. 

Missy

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