From 3,700 feet in the sky I write of the world below, a patchwork of gravel-brown and winding blue-green beneath patchy blankets of white. I love to be on the ground, and feel unexpected gratitude that gravity hugs me always downward. What would it be like to walk the whole way north along the undulating edge of the coast-line, heading north between the great continent and the waters.
When I was five years old and took my first plane flight, I looked out the window and saw an unfathomably large grey brick wall in the sky. It does not matter if I was awake or asleep. It was there in the clouds, to my eyes.