Preamble to Paradise

Boarding the plane to Minneapolis last Sunday, I anticipated the same old travelers' tango: Stand in line, shuffle on board, try to find an overhead bin which hasn't been hogged by somebody abusing the definition of "one carry-on and one personal item", wedge myself into the seat and just count down the seconds until we're above 10,000 feet and I can tune out the sounds of the confined and cramped public with a liberal application of iTunes.

What awaited me was nothing of the sort. There was actually room in the bin above my assigned seat. My alloted space was next to a window, 6F, in a row that was 3 seats wide. The other two seats remained vacant for the entire short trip, despite the fact that I know there were rows with all three full further back in the plane. My view out the window was unhindered by engine or wing. The shortest leg of my journey was off to an auspicious start!

We spent very little time on the ground, waiting for our turn to take-off. The tall grasses beside the runway seemed to wave specifically for me, like a troupe of slender green dancers bidding me farewell (and an eventual happy return). When flight did occur, the captain piloted us NW, over the city. I love seeing cities from the air, especially ones with which I am familiar. The modest midwestern skyscrapers of downtown Milwaukee were diminutive way down below and the Lake was bright and beautiful blue.

As we left the city, the ship cut up through a bank of thick white clouds. That's where the magic began. Through serendipitous alignment of our altitude, the angle of the sun and our bearing, and facilitated by my unobstructed view out the window, I watched as the shadow of our plane danced across the tops of the rolling clouds below. It looked like a sleek grey shark, fluctuating in size as it played out across the vaporous surfaces of varying altitude. Most strikingly, the crisp outline of our vessel was surrounded by a prismatic halo. A circular rainbow spot, if you will, which raced along to keep pace with our speeding shadow. It was beautiful.

The clouds cleared in short order, and I was treated with an absolutely perfect panorama of the rural farms, forests and lakes of north-central Wisconsin. Autumn's kiss could be seen in thick pockets of bright foliage, and the rivers were swollen and silver. All the while, a bright yellow light paced us on the ground below, illuminating broad swaths of forest with an intense blaze. My rational mind rested on the fact that despite the appearance of a clear day, that there must be some strata of mist below us and that the light phenomenon was nothing more than the sun's reflection off of our fuselage, flaring the mist and distorting my view of the ground below. Surely the reflected beams couldn't be concentrated enough to light up the landscape from 20,000 feet.

The time passed quickly as I drank in the vistas, frequently letting my eyes follow the brilliant spot as it devoured the landscape.

On our approach to Minneapolis, I was amazed to see the bright spot cause explosions of light on the streets signs and windows below. It actually *had* been a concentrated spot of sunlight which trailed us across the heartland. The lakes surrounding our destination shimmered with the brilliance, and again I was moved with an overcoming emotion of welcoming and acceptance. Everything was right in the world, for those fleeting moments. If I were a religious man, I'd be convinced that God was telling me, personally, that everything was OK.

There has never been a more relaxed approach for landing. In the back of my head, I wondered if we weren't going to make it, and all of this had been preamble to paradise. Even so, it didn't matter.

I was swaddled in peace.