The Flight

If it weren't for the fact that I know we're moving, the slight vibration of the cabin, the roar of the engines, the occasional, subtle sway, I would think we were fixed in place. Minimal lights dot the cabin of individual readers and there's the general murmur of talking. A tall flight attendant with dark shoulder-length hair strides through the cabin with a white plastic bag, stopping occasionally to collect discarded plastic cups and to chat with passengers. The seats to either side of me and in front and behind vacant, I stretch out and relax, my laptop resting on my seat back tray table. Chilled air flows down onto me from the vent above my head, mostly hitting my left arm. The air has very little smell, far cleaner than the stale smell I am used to on an airplane. Out my window, all is calm. Below us, blackness. Straight out, the wing angles up, the wingtip lit by a small light, a band of white and green visible. A light blinks regularly, splashing the wing with red light. In the far distance, straight bands of red, orange, brown, gray, light blue and finally dark blue precede the eventual blackness of night that will swallow us up within minutes.