Tomorrow's going to be a rude adjustment, I know, but on the red eye home last night at 36,000 feet, I saw stars, clusters and distant galaxies in the night sky as I never have before with the naked eye. Meteors shot across the scape of sky in my window so delicate and needle-like that it's hard for me to believe they would have been discernible on the ground. [Which, of course, is patently untrue, but things are a little different at 36,000' 2:30 in the morning. Cut an underslept girl some slack.]
It was enthralling.
Then the thinnest crescent of a moon rose above the cloud bank, at times to be obscured by the high, roiling bubbles of cumulonimbus clouds in the distance; backlighting and seeming to illuminate them from inside in such a way that was at once completely logical and utterly captivating. So much so that I didn't even want that part to come to an end.
It made me feel not a little recalcitrant in my attachment to an admittedly hedonistic existence of simply existing, but it also felt almost transcendent as strains of Lemon Jelly's "Space Walk" filled my mind and a relaxed ease still filled my limbs. Celestial wonder giving material form to pure, organic joy. If I had to leave such a beautiful and calming island of warmth and relaxation, what better escorts could I have asked for than this perfect sliver of moon and this sky of vast improbable possibilities as the Maestro snored softly at my shoulder?