Intricate frost lace work
forming on the inner pane of the 747
somehow reminds me of the fragility of life.
Pressure wells inside my mind and
something inside snaps,
with a sudden urge to to lick the frost from the window.
But the plane changes direction
and rays of sunlight transform my icy patterns to liquid
that slide down the glass collecting diesel grime.
Be grateful, I think,
Savor the pure moments while they exist.
Despite the filth that may taint it,
anticipate good in something next.
No matter where I go in life, in my mind
I choose to travel back to this sacred non-place.