Flying at 35,000 feet gives new perspective of the earth and its occupants. There is no sign of animals, no sign of people themselves. The crevices of canyons and rivers, the stunning heights of mountains, the greenness of vegetation and the white of snow are the most noticeable. Cities look like speckles of black, white, and grey. Large highways look like lines in the sand, but cars are too small to see. The impact of agriculture is evident in the shades of green, brown, and red squares and circles spread across the most fertile areas of land. Flocks of windmills are seen where the winds are higher. But these things look miniscule compared to the tallest mountains, like Rainer and Saint Helen’s. These look like giants, rising from the hills, reaching towering heights above all that is below, their white peaks glowing and shimmering in the sunlight. The large rivers snake through the land, cutting and shaping the dirt into canyons and lakes, creating definition through the low hills and flatlands.
The years of erosion from wind and rain have left the earth looking wrinkly and haggard around the deserts and dry regions. But then the richness of color, of green life, appears, and it looks fresh again. Puffy marshmallow clouds obscure the tops of mountains, but their whiteness blends with the remnants of snow still on the ground. The views however are obscured completely by clouds grey and dark with rain. And the fading of light creates a haze that removes all definition of these features that were so evident in the light of day.
As the sun goes down, the darkness sweeps the earth, removing all detail and color from its surface. The line between sky and earth becomes less distinguished. Finally there is a sign of life: small twinkles of lights from cities and towns. They flicker in shades of orange, blue, and white, reflecting the scattering of stars in the night sky above. The stars themselves are as bright and frequent as when viewed from the country, far from the haze of city lights. Occasionally the seemingly random scatterings of light form distinguishable clusters of the lights of a city grid. These cities all look alike, neither marked for which city or even state that they are. There is a distance between these lights and the plane, a lack of connection or realism that the lights belong to a living thing. There is no indication that the speckles lights the driveway of a house so a boy can shoot hoops with his dad, or an office building so a janitor can make the rounds and get home to a warm bed, or a street so a group of friends can drive carefree with the windows down and the music up.As the plane descends towards the bright blues and reds and purples of runway lights, the definition of light becomes more evident. What were once sprinklings now glow, reveling parking lots and highways. Cars and buildings are visible on the roads and highways. The distant green outline of Dallas is viewable in the clear night air. As the plane nears it’s touchdown, people are easy to spot and with the thud of the wheels on the runway, the realism sets in. The distance once felt is no longer. And I am once again reminded of our presence on earth.
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