On An Airplane

I don't know what day it is. The light has shifted from purple to blue, and young men in gray vests are wheeling carts through the narrow aisles that suddenly smell vaguely of breakfast. I do not know if I've slept or merely been unconscious, nor do I know how many hours I've been in that state. It may have been mere minutes.Through the portal I see a silvery wing against the snow white cloud of sky, and the eerie light of the vast unknown. The border of the portal is pink, and within the capsule that contains us there is the rosy glow of a synthetic dawn, and the comforting industry of  flight attendants trying to create a rise 'n shine kind of feeling, but we are all subdued and baffled.

And we must be almost here, but what that means seems somehow rather fluid. I'm a 19th century woman in a jet age, and I'll never get my mind around it.

(You might also be interested in this post about flying.)