Pink cotton candy. Or maybe an enormous block of sunrise-colored dry ice. That's what it looks like outside the plane window. Watching the sunrise from above the clouds is a sight to behold. The word marvelous comes to mind, but there's something gay about it. Marvelous.
There are moments so pregnant with beauty that it seems difficult to dismiss divinity entirely. A woman beside me is reading a book on the Protestant Reformation with her hands clasped in prayer, so there's that. I was talking to my sister the other day and we agreed there isn't a Christian god looking down on us. If there was, surely I would seem him right now, right? All around me there are cherubless clouds. Gold has replaced the pink from earlier and we're slowly descending into an ethereal kind of custard colored fog. Below us mountains lift their peaks up through the haze to greet the morning light. Some of them still have snow on the top. Pastries. Giant, geological puffed pastries dappled with powdered sugar. Even though the airline generously provided me with a pack of free, honey-roasted peanuts, they've only served to increase my appetite.
Ok, the flight attendant is beckoning. It's time to stow away all electronics and return our tray tables to the upright position. We're landing in bat country.
I just realized I left my belt at the security checkpoint.
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