Pete in Heaven
Jun. 28th, 2006 08:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skyringAn odd thing. You know, when I'm at home, trying to get to sleep, I let dreamy thoughts roam through my head, fantasies of me on another trip, flying high, off to see far places and people, the world scrolling by under my window. I get relaxed and dreamy and comfortable and zonk straight off. Kerri says that it takes me about two minutes and I begin snoring.
But now. Now, when I'm actually up here on a long night trip, the reality is that I need to think of something else to get to sleep, because an economy seat isn't the softest bed in the world. Even three economy seats in a row isn't much better. Our plane is half full, maybe less, and I have an entire section of three to myself. I just noticed, when I went aft a few minutes ago, some lucky soul with a middle section of four seats. Short of being in the forward cabin, this is as good as it gets.
I have the best of aisle and window here. A view out the window, and unfettered access to the toilets without waiting for my companion(s) to get up. A little while ago, I went to the galley and asked for spiced tomato juice, and a delightful young lady brought it to my seat. With a smile. She didn't even need me to tell her my seat number, she knew who I was.
So here I am, up in one of my favorite places, bloody mary mix ready to hand, soft music in my ears, a laptop in front of me, and a view of Siberia under the midnight twilight under my happy gaze. Colour me content.
Time is doing its usual trick, warping and shifting and refusing to be pinned down. My watch says one thing, my body another, the world outside a third. And it's all changing. It's probably about four in the morning outside, a few days after the summer solstice. Midwinter in Canberra, of course, and at home the frozen grass is crunching under Kerri's shoes as she collects the morning paper in the full but frosty daylight.
But here. Here is dawn's rosy glow just under the horizon, and soon I shall have to draw the shade lest the brightness disturb the darkened cabin. I took a few photographs of the wing silhouetted against the red streak along the horizon, some random part of Siberia below, huge lakes and looping rivers. Probably stuffed with wildlife, if instead of sweet-talking a flight attendant into fetching me a drink I could persuade the captain to take us down and skim across the wetlands, flocks of startled geese rising below us, wolves and yaks and bears looking up in wonder, the occasional Russian village waking to the jet blast of four big turbofans streaking over their rooftiles. "Certainly, Sir," the captain would say, "It'll be fun. Let's do that."
I can see a contrail forming just outside my window, and when the sun hits us in a few minutes, we'll be a rosy comet high in the pale blue heaven. Perhaps Siberian newspaper deliverers will pause on their rounds and look up at the wonder far above.
And me, I'm in the heart of the comet, finishing the last of my juice with a contented slurp. And writing about my dreams.
But now. Now, when I'm actually up here on a long night trip, the reality is that I need to think of something else to get to sleep, because an economy seat isn't the softest bed in the world. Even three economy seats in a row isn't much better. Our plane is half full, maybe less, and I have an entire section of three to myself. I just noticed, when I went aft a few minutes ago, some lucky soul with a middle section of four seats. Short of being in the forward cabin, this is as good as it gets.
I have the best of aisle and window here. A view out the window, and unfettered access to the toilets without waiting for my companion(s) to get up. A little while ago, I went to the galley and asked for spiced tomato juice, and a delightful young lady brought it to my seat. With a smile. She didn't even need me to tell her my seat number, she knew who I was.
So here I am, up in one of my favorite places, bloody mary mix ready to hand, soft music in my ears, a laptop in front of me, and a view of Siberia under the midnight twilight under my happy gaze. Colour me content.
Time is doing its usual trick, warping and shifting and refusing to be pinned down. My watch says one thing, my body another, the world outside a third. And it's all changing. It's probably about four in the morning outside, a few days after the summer solstice. Midwinter in Canberra, of course, and at home the frozen grass is crunching under Kerri's shoes as she collects the morning paper in the full but frosty daylight.
But here. Here is dawn's rosy glow just under the horizon, and soon I shall have to draw the shade lest the brightness disturb the darkened cabin. I took a few photographs of the wing silhouetted against the red streak along the horizon, some random part of Siberia below, huge lakes and looping rivers. Probably stuffed with wildlife, if instead of sweet-talking a flight attendant into fetching me a drink I could persuade the captain to take us down and skim across the wetlands, flocks of startled geese rising below us, wolves and yaks and bears looking up in wonder, the occasional Russian village waking to the jet blast of four big turbofans streaking over their rooftiles. "Certainly, Sir," the captain would say, "It'll be fun. Let's do that."
I can see a contrail forming just outside my window, and when the sun hits us in a few minutes, we'll be a rosy comet high in the pale blue heaven. Perhaps Siberian newspaper deliverers will pause on their rounds and look up at the wonder far above.
And me, I'm in the heart of the comet, finishing the last of my juice with a contented slurp. And writing about my dreams.
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Date: 2006-06-28 07:06 am (UTC)no subject
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