The Soar

My fingers closed around a cold, slim metallic device. I pulled my iPod from my huge black carry-on and stowed it beneath the seat in front of me. I needed some music in my ears to drown out the drone of the engine. The plane was accelerating on the runway. Within seconds, we were shooting into the air and I watched the world beneath me grow into a microscopic mass of colored dots and patches. We were drifting among white wisps of clouds, like cotton balls scattered across the horizon.

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I love clouds. I love the view from above, when you’re gazing down at the puffy white substances, and above you, the blue ceiling stretches far beyond into an endless realm. The sky and all its wonder — a roof over the Earth. I marveled at the beautiful blue of it. It was the color of peace and promise.

I thought about how God had carefully structured the distance between the sky, the clouds and the earth. Way below, I saw patches of green and brown — more farmlands. We were probably soaring over Missouri. I could make out tiny speckles of white among the green and brown squares — houses. I thought about the people living there. I wondered what they were doing. I wondered if anyone was looking up in the sky right now to see a plane soaring by, and I wondered if they knew a girl was peering down at them from the sky, thinking of them.

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