Musings from the sky

I've looked over so many cloud coverings from so many planes, yet the imensity and beauty of the view continues to inspire gratitute and a sense of insignificance within the vast horizon that engulfs whatever airplane i'm in.

In the first memory i have of flying I was wearing a heavy, green suede poppy dress. Its checkered chest panel made me dizzy everytime I looked down. I must have been 3 or 4 years old with no real appreciation for much but a paper bags and my mother's embrace: always warm, always home.

I remember the agony of trying to find a way to stop my ear drums from imploding in my head. Swallowing spit didn't work, crying blocked my nose and mother, well, she was panicking too over her ill-fated outfit choice: high heels, short skirt, silk shirt with a decorative stain of my vomit. She was no match for motion-sensitive, baby Me.

The flight I'm in - thirty six years on - is blue skies, and stealth, sleek propulsion. I managed to kick most of my bouts of motion sickness back in 1998 on my first solo trip to zimbabwe to visit a friend. Between ginger ales, while taking in a view as enchanting as this, i chose to let motion sickness take the passenger seat on my travels. I chose to focus on clouds, counting babies on board, watching people sleep and overhearing conversations. Sufficed to say that this was before robust onboard entertainment consoles came along.

We will land soon and as the altitude drops revealing johannesburg, this leg of the journey is almost over. I take in the flickering lights, watching as the city of gold transitions from day to night.

We finally land and looking up at the sky, i realise how far I have come, how far I have still to go and how the gift of flight has become a part of my life; it is always warm, always home.