Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Fireworks, as seen from high above

By time this posts, I'll be on my way to Oregon, flying there - erk, hate flying. My Secret Graces manuscript should be in the inbox of my publishers. As I write this, I am just days away from that-since, as I've told you all, I'm scheduling posts to go up automatically so I an finish my deadline. I'm using posts from the Year of Gratitude blog(or Grog). So, I picked one where I'd flown to Oregon and back home one summer:

Flying from Portland, Oregon, where I’d visited my son, back home to North Carolina, what luck! I had the two seats all to myself, a relished luxury I appreciated. Exhausted from my trip, I dozed, and when I again opened my eyes, colors ripped through a charcoal-threaded darkening sky. As it became full dark, I watched the towns below light up. Those lights signaled life and people, some crowded and full and others tiny dots of tiny towns. Behind me, two women spoke a foreign language, a lyrical beautiful sound. I lay my head against the cool glass and listened to a conversation I could not understand. But then, what is this? With a flashing burst of color, the woman and I were linked. Together we whispered in awe, "Fireworks…"

Below us the colors burst in a raining arc. A town celebrating! I imagined a parade; hotdogs, hamburgers, big salty pretzels, cold cokes that leave their burning feeling in the back of the throat; the high school band playing badly but no one cares, for the little town has sons and daughters marching; and the fathers with small children on their shoulders, bouncing them up and down, pointing to floats and clowns and bright-colored confetti; and then as the evening darkens, the first burst of colored light blazes in the sky with a Boom!, and the sighs and oohs and aahs of the people follow. The bursts become faster and bigger and louder, and that is when our airplane passes over, when the lyrical music language behind me is understood in sight and in sound. Within all of our unknown words is our uniting: Fireworks!

I pointed with my index finger, the pad pressing against the glass. Our shared experience, the link of our language from the image below. Then, together, we repeated, “Fireworks..." I never want to forget. It was the only time I was grateful to be flying in a tin can high above my Earth. I blew a kiss to the town below, thanking them for sending us their message, one that linked people together in the language of joy and color and blazing sparkled light.

(this is a reprint from the YOG-year of gratitude-today I'm flying out to Portland!)


Tamika: said...

I've heard some wonderful things about Tender Graces, I can't wait to read it!

Hubby hates flying too, poor babies. I ache for him when we take off. Cringe.

Deb@RGRamblings said...

Fireworks from an airplane would be beautiful! I always loved flying at night and looking for the city lights. Safe travels Kat.

Doreen said...

I bet that was awesome to see. I love flying, just don't get the opportunity very often.

have a wonderful week!!

Karen said...

Oh enjoy and love, love, love your time there. Have a very Merry Christmas! Be safe.

Debbie said...

I feel some baby pictures coming soon! I hope you are having a wonderful time.

Marguerite said...

Hope you have a great trip and a wonderful time with your family, Kat! Congrats on making your deadline!

jeannette stgermain said...

I don't like flying at night, but during the day, when the sun is shining above the awesome wonder.
I wish I could write about a few moments as wonderfully as you do (sigh)!
I'm a newbie on Facebook, so I might contact you:)