"Brace. Brace."
Terry and Barnaby flew us there and Murdoch MacLeod looked after us on the way home. I love to fly. When I am in the sky it seems impossible. Everything is suspended and unreal. Time stops and the people and cars underneath us don't exist. The clouds sit like membranes between dimensions. Some of them move by so fast and thin like dry sand on a windy coastline. The sunlight catches on vapour particles and refracts creating mini rainbows. It reflects off things on the ground. They glow briefly and are quickly extinguished like fallen stars. The endless flat clouds merge and resemble a soft static and a second terrain below. The clouds and the blue create a new horizon but while flying over water it is hard to know which way is up.
I would really like to be up there again.
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