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, s...