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Up above the clouds
Mar. 4th, 2002 10:18 pmSitting in the plane in Stansted. I've placed my book to one side after tiredness washed over me and carried my head back onto the seatrest. I can't seem to find a comfortable position to sit in, my head lolling alternately between headrest and window, but this doesn't seem to matter, as my consciousness flickers on and off.
I blink, sure I've slept, and look out the window. We seem to have moved, but the plane's still on the ground. I fight for consciousness for a moment, determined to find the time. 6:10, we're running late, but as soon as I've absorbed that I'm back into darkness again.
I blink again, look out the window to see odd black and white shapes. Apart from the plane wing, the view makes no sense. It then coalesces into white clounds with black gaps spread between them like furrows drawn in the soil. Then the patterns change, layers of cloud pile on each other, and I wake up slowly, studying the different patterns drawn beneath me.
Five minutes later it looks like I'm staring down at shaving foam, spread liberally over the surface of some unreachable watery surface. Huge mounds of creamy sludge swirl beneath me, piled higher at one end than the other, forming a childrens idea of curved ski-slope and rubbery playground.
Eventually, the plane begins its descent. The captain dims the lights, telling us that we can turn on the internal lights if we want to, but for pretty much the first time ever, almost nobody does. I'm halfway back the plane and only one person ahead of me is illuminated. We've dived into the cloud, reducing everything outside to a white wall, just beyond the plane's wingtips.
Some kind of light must be projected from the nose of the plane, because I can see the clouds forward of us reflecting it back intermittently, but for some reason it's varying from very bright to almost non-existent, and for a moment I wonder if it's actually lightning ahead of us, flashing through the clouds.
I stare, transfixed, for several minutes, until we pull out of the bottom of the cloud, to see ordinary house-lights twinkling up from the ground at us. Normally I find these beautiful and distracting, but after the glories I've just seen, they seem somewhat drab. I pull my book back up from my lap, and plunge back into Japan, wondering if the writer's masterful wordplay has weaved some magic on me this night.
I blink, sure I've slept, and look out the window. We seem to have moved, but the plane's still on the ground. I fight for consciousness for a moment, determined to find the time. 6:10, we're running late, but as soon as I've absorbed that I'm back into darkness again.
I blink again, look out the window to see odd black and white shapes. Apart from the plane wing, the view makes no sense. It then coalesces into white clounds with black gaps spread between them like furrows drawn in the soil. Then the patterns change, layers of cloud pile on each other, and I wake up slowly, studying the different patterns drawn beneath me.
Five minutes later it looks like I'm staring down at shaving foam, spread liberally over the surface of some unreachable watery surface. Huge mounds of creamy sludge swirl beneath me, piled higher at one end than the other, forming a childrens idea of curved ski-slope and rubbery playground.
Eventually, the plane begins its descent. The captain dims the lights, telling us that we can turn on the internal lights if we want to, but for pretty much the first time ever, almost nobody does. I'm halfway back the plane and only one person ahead of me is illuminated. We've dived into the cloud, reducing everything outside to a white wall, just beyond the plane's wingtips.
Some kind of light must be projected from the nose of the plane, because I can see the clouds forward of us reflecting it back intermittently, but for some reason it's varying from very bright to almost non-existent, and for a moment I wonder if it's actually lightning ahead of us, flashing through the clouds.
I stare, transfixed, for several minutes, until we pull out of the bottom of the cloud, to see ordinary house-lights twinkling up from the ground at us. Normally I find these beautiful and distracting, but after the glories I've just seen, they seem somewhat drab. I pull my book back up from my lap, and plunge back into Japan, wondering if the writer's masterful wordplay has weaved some magic on me this night.
