I think I dozed off even before the plane took off from the Nashville airport last night, and about an hour into the flight, I woke up somewhere over the Chesapeake, I think. It was all craggy like that.
It was a really gorgeous view--there was a bit of haze, and we were high enough that you couldn't make out any moving lights from cars, just this foreign landscape of pockets of city lights against the pitch black of water as we moved up the Atlantic coastline.
Everything looked so still, and there was this illusion of moving slowly, flying so far up. But then as we passed over one city--maybe Baltimore?--there were a couple planes flying below us, and you could see just how fast we were all going. Shortly thereafter, the pilot told us to keep an eye out for Philadelphia and then New York, and it was really just a matter of minutes from the announcement before I recognized Manhattan, Brooklyn, and Long Island. Times Square was super bright, even from that far away.
I don't remember the last time that I had a night flight. For whatever reason, it made me think a bit about death (I do tend to think about death fairly easily). Not that think that I'm supposed to die anytime soon, but I don't think I'm that afraid of it, for the most part. I think about the inevitability of my family dying, or my friends, or myself.
The views from the plane last night made me think of the endless grey city at the start of C.S. Lewis' "The Great Divorce." Maybe it was the anonymity of floating so high above. But here it was really lovely to see, taking in miles and miles all around.
