I recently flew home from an delightful visit to my sweet Married-Sis who lives out of state, and while flying back home I made the following observations in my writing notebook. Admittedly, the paragraph sounds a bit morbid. It certainly was not meant to be so. I suppose it was one of those moments where you just had to be there to catch the romance of the moment. I wasn’t scared to fly and I was totally comfortable, so I don’t know what else I can I say about it other than scraps of weird thoughts hit me at weird moments in time.
"A wrinkled white hand, yellowed by the airplane’s cabin lights, extended itself upward, wandering it’s way along the buttons and knobs like the appendage of a ghostly soul in a lonely/futile search of a lost memory. Periodically, other such hands (some young, some almost as old as the first) restlessly wavered their way up from the grey-backed seats that linied the cabin like solemn rows of lonely grave stones."
Yeah kinda wierd but really, anyone who has flown anywhere knows how wierd it looks when, in the dim light of the cabin all you can see are peoples' hands waving mysteriously above their heads in search of the AC twisty knob or the reading ligth push button.
Copyriht of Cathryn 2011
