Mud and Stars

I think the scariest thing was watching them sleep, their faces a calm sea just waiting to be stirred by the subtle turbulence. Some with heads bent over their chests, hanging in their seatbelts like it was already done, the plane had already gone down. The woman with the baby calmly running a finger through his soft hair, humming a gentle lullaby only he could hear through the small ear he kept pressed to her chest. Her long hair ran in rivlets down around her shoulders, one of the baby's fingers looped through a lock, one small fist clenched. Outside, nothing but a white sheet, an expanse of cloud, smoothed by wind in some places, fluffed in others, permitting nothing but the fait illumination of early morning to those still sleeping in cities under the blanket. Realization hits, hard and slow. People in the cabin wake, shaking the dreams from the inside of their eyelids. Breathing deeply, I look out the window again. The terrain has changed. Canyons spread like veins from one canyon that runs like an artery through the land. Vibrations roll through my feet, a constant reminder that I'm leaving, running again. Just like last time, the past times, and all times that will come. Thousands of miles flying under my feet in seconds and it's all I can do to cry.