The rumbling lulls you to sleep, but your obstinate gaze swerves down. Up, you don't see much. But down - down mountains cower under your stare. Stale plastic whiffs climb up your nose, but in your mind you soar and breathe wet clouds. Your life sits and waits - you're too high up to reach. It will catch up soon enough, with the screech of rubber and the frenzied queuing.
So you look down into the star-spangled darkness. Streams of gold shimmer through the earth, seeping and weaving and winding. Spiderweb. You wonder what shadow the owner lurks behind. Splotches of metallic paint on the inky canvas. God dropped her nectar and the cities grew.
Spread like diseases. Microscopic fungi casually disperse escalate expand until the next thing you know their narcotic network occupies - not even fire can help you. Up here not even birds can reach you.
Glued to the glass, your eyes swing like a pendulum. Left, a horizon, still silver with sunset. It glows. Funny things, horizons. The edge of the earth, but here feels closer than ever.
Right, flocks of curious clouds gather beneath the wing. Encase it with billowing tenderness. Red bulbs flash with mathematical rhythm. They signal your existence, but up there no one really notices. You're just another star, lost and twinkling around for the millennia to come. Seconds. Or hours. It all blurs a little.
Someone has cut a knife through the land - aggressive home lights sharply morph into unending black. You have reached the ocean. Are you looking up or down? Stars and boats form the same speckled sky; you drift between the waves above and the waters beneath. And yet you burn in unison with the world.
You have reached the ocean, but don't we all?
-©Estelle Wallis, May 2019
So you look down into the star-spangled darkness. Streams of gold shimmer through the earth, seeping and weaving and winding. Spiderweb. You wonder what shadow the owner lurks behind. Splotches of metallic paint on the inky canvas. God dropped her nectar and the cities grew.
Spread like diseases. Microscopic fungi casually disperse escalate expand until the next thing you know their narcotic network occupies - not even fire can help you. Up here not even birds can reach you.
Glued to the glass, your eyes swing like a pendulum. Left, a horizon, still silver with sunset. It glows. Funny things, horizons. The edge of the earth, but here feels closer than ever.
Right, flocks of curious clouds gather beneath the wing. Encase it with billowing tenderness. Red bulbs flash with mathematical rhythm. They signal your existence, but up there no one really notices. You're just another star, lost and twinkling around for the millennia to come. Seconds. Or hours. It all blurs a little.
Someone has cut a knife through the land - aggressive home lights sharply morph into unending black. You have reached the ocean. Are you looking up or down? Stars and boats form the same speckled sky; you drift between the waves above and the waters beneath. And yet you burn in unison with the world.
You have reached the ocean, but don't we all?
-©Estelle Wallis, May 2019
I never imagined that a plane trip could be so inspiring. Thoughtful, evocative, beautiful imagery, I love it.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much!! I'm glad you liked it :D
DeleteAt the beginning it has made me think of a Greek mythological death where someone would go down to Les Enfers with the dark and almost celestial atmosphere, then I kind of guessed it wasn't that, but the end got me back to my first idea. Well never mind, well written, I like it :)
ReplyDelete