Looking down from an airplane window is a strange thing. Circuit cities and crumpled mountains. The land turning beneath. I wonder how often people raise their heads as metallic bodies pass over their lives.
Why do we look up? Is it an act of raising our spirits, hoping that confidence will spring forth? Are we searching for an anchor, a sky to lock onto in midst of the moving ground?
I remember the oft lonesome nights where I’d look up to see tiny red lights flickering on and off in the sky. People going somewhere. Going home to someone. Or no one. Lost above, found below.