I find myself taxi-ing down the runway and I start to wonder, how often have I done this now? What flight number is this? Hundreds surely. You try to count, 4 flights a week into Victoria and back, 11 months of that project, plus trips to DC and Vancouver and Calgary and you try and count and you sort of shrug. Hundreds.
I love to fly at night. I wish I could take a worthy photo tonight, at sunset – the sky is orange and blue and grey and black, the lights of towns flashing by below me. They have just turned out the seat belt sign and I have pulled out my laptop.
Flying frees my thoughts. I live in dread of the day that wifi comes to air Canada flights. I don’t want to be reachable – that’s what is so appealing. The flight to Vancouver is one hour, twenty two minutes away. That’s enough time to write a document, send a bunch of outstanding emails, think about a project, some weeks it’s solid progress on a sock, several chapters of a novel.
It’s time each week where my body leaves the earth and in that strange space between land and space as you hurtle through the air, I can think. It’s a bit magical this business of flight.
I have a series of posts that are going through my head – they are fragments, all tied together in a way that I don’t fully understand. Part of the point in writing them will be, in this space above the air, traveling through the sky, to look down and around and try and determine how they are connected, to tease out, untangle the crossed wires and knots.
And that’s what the rest of the week shall be.