Air Pressure

Sometimes, when the skies are cloud-free and the sun has risen just enough to bleed its light into a new morning, we sit in bed and watch the pale blue being slowly and elegantly slashed. An anonymous, odyssey-driven hand making long pink incisions that heal slowly before our eyes, leaving only the faintest of scars.

At the leading edge of each graceful gash, an aeroplane, not short of company in the complex cat’s cradle of flight paths. Yet it looks, for all the world, to be a distant and lonely object. It’s hard not to think of the passengers and crew. Each separated from someone they love, by speed, trajectory and altitude. Some carrying the undeclared weight of loneliness, others immersed and at home in their own turbulence.

4 thoughts on “Air Pressure

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s