The clouds, when we are finally in the air, are ethereal, lovely and awe-inspiring. It almost makes me forget my three hours stranded on the tarmac. I was angry then, exhausted, tired and indignant, but the sun wouldn’t have been the same now, here in the clouds, had we left on time… the ride not as smooth. With the storms now below and behind us the clouds take on a more genteel look than they did from the ground, with their lightning and winds now dissipated.
The clouds look like mountains from up here… or soft mounds of cotton balls. Lots and LOTS of cotton balls. In my head, I know they would not be soft if we plummeted down upon them, but I thank God anyway for the current moment of peace I feel looking at their squishy goodness and I push the fear of falling from my mind.
A jolt of turbulence breaks me from my reverie, my time in the clouds, and I look around the cabin of the plane to see if there is cause for concern. There is not and soon I am back outside, wondering at the majesty before me.
As we move along the clouds take on the appearance of a cashmere blanket… or maybe fleece. I can imagine cozying up in their plush comfort beside a roaring fire.
Eventually the clouds fade away and I see only land. It makes me sad that there are not clouds now, even though they have caused me so much consternation with their storms only an hour before.
I return to my book and wait out my flight with a new found awe at the world around me.