Inside an Airplane
When we rise above the clouds, we remember the sun’s been shining there all along.
by Kristina DeMichele
Inside an airplane,
my gaze latches itself to the window.
The view is best in the early morning—
the sunrise sparkles a rainbow of hues,
illuminating the ocean,
magnifying the edges of the shore.
The warmth of the sun caresses my face.
Closing my eyes, I let that glow touch every tip.
Late at night, the view sparkles, too.
Lights below build formations and
I wonder who exists in the gaps.
Thin, wispy clouds soak up the fluorescent light.
The sight makes me think
about my own light, and what clouds it,
and what the difference is between
clouds that dim and clouds that reflect.
Sometimes the only way to reach this perspective
is from above,
inside an airplane.
To see the expanse of the world
in a single line of vision,
to take in the light
and let it (ful)fill you—
that is what it means to fly.
is a writer and Senior Content Editor for Cook’s Illustrated magazine. A graduate of the University of Dayton, she moved to Boston in 2013 and earned her Master’s in Publishing and Writing from Emerson College. Cooking fuels her soul with joy. You can usually find her with a cup of herbal tea and a slice of chocolate babka (it’s her humble opinion that Juliet makes the best babka in the greater Boston area). Instagram: @demichelek1