When Possible, Fly on the Night of a Full Moon
The world outside was slowly growing dimmer. I noticed a bright light somewhere out in the blue — far brighter than any far-away ship or building — that suddenly swelled to the size of a moon, down there, floating in the ocean off the coast of South Carolina. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
The rest of the travelers in our flying bus napped or stared listlessly at a shiny slab in their lap and the staring yellow orb morphed into a full circle out in the blue. As we banked to the right — a nod to its awakening — it seemed to rest in acknowledgement, hanging for a moment on the invisible horizon.
This was the first time I'd seen the moon like this. All that time on the ground had me convinced such a view didn't exist. Yet here I was, awestruck and growing a kink in my neck.
As soon as it had appeared it was gone, only to emerge an hour later at a higher vantage point. In the black it shone like an astral locomotive coming head-on, but never approaching. It hung there, illuminating a lumpy landscape of clouds below, reminding me of some bright winter night in my past.
Below, tiny sparse clouds hovered above the cities, sparking to life like fireworks in a pillowcase. The world in this light entranced me until we touched down. Among the street lights and headlights I came to again, mesmerized now by the yellows, blues, and whites of the fluorescent city.