a World of White

Remember the friendly skies? They're not so friendly anymore. It's so easy when we travel to focus on the negatives. There's the unsolicited foreplay from overweight robo-cops. There's the unrequested starvation diet. And, most unbearable, there's the two feet of personal space that become a foot and a half when the jerk in front of you reclines with one angry thrust into your kneecaps.

Now when we think of flying, we think of that turbulent flight, the one spent in the middle seat in the last row, sandwiched between a tattooed giant with dreadlocks who rocked all flight to the beat of some mental rhythm and a business traveler wearing a rumpled suit with a dusting of dandruff that cascaded softly onto your blue cashmere sweater. Because your seat didn't recline, you spent the entire flight staring at the greasy back of the head of the guy in front of you as the smell of bathroom grew more pungent by the hour.

But every once in a while, even in these very unfriendly skies, magic strikes. You wake up and find that you've been transported to a world of white, free of garbage, crime, and sludge. Trapped up high in your expensive coach seat, you get a beautiful glimpse of the wrinkled face of mother earth.

The world stretches before your eyes, an ocean of whites. A glimpse of such peace and perfection almost makes all the indignities of air travel bearable.

Happy Wordful, Five Minutes Wordless, and Way-back wednesday.