On high

7am in NYC.
11am in London.
4.30pm in India.
7pm in HongKong.

Somewhere in between, where the sun is setting hazily,lazily
over patches of glazed water scattered amidst rough mountain
edges.Every wrinkle illuminated in curves and shadows except
where those persistent, even now white, clouds interfere.

Four distinct lines of colour yellow orange gray and deep purple.
Moving on to a flattened barren brown expanse as I squint through
the cracked cloud cover which looms suddenly in crazy shapes,
I no longer want to decipher.

Search the inflight map for coordinates of the unrecognisable
vastness I'm leaving behind.
Its not about getting there-enjoy the ride,
a voice in my head desperately pleads.
Everything is finite I respond patronisingly.

"Peach bordelou with custard sauce or rasmalai for you?"
Both please. And leave the cashews and camembert beside the
port while I finish my sundried tomato rolls (caked in 19mm butter).

Little silver glints in the window shooting off my glass of
full bodied Medoc 2002 (with red fruits, spices, coffee,
chocolate and a touch of vanilla and fruit tannins)
-or was it still the dying sun playing outside?

A long drawn out painstakingly tantalising version of
'summertime' assaulting eardrums. Its winter, dammit.
Switch tracks.Kelly Clarkson singing 'Gone'.
Switch again. Switch drinks.
One Pacific sunrise please (champagne and drambuie
with zest of orange and hint of mint).
Licking my lips in anticipation.

Staring steadily ahead after fourth glass-
baby bassinet must be stowed during takeoff,landing and turbulence.
Lavender tablecloth trembles gently and I clutch the black
and moss amoeba shaped salt and pepper cellars as the plane
heaves and shivers.
I love panic.

Deep blue cobalt sky,twisted silhouettes.
Wondering if we'll plunge down on the Gobi desert perhaps,
or if the fuselage will burn through before we see the best
of it. Anything for a thrill, or for some calm. I get it.
The latter I mean.
Still green curtain ahead and quiet snores.Muted light.
Don't look at the window- its too dark to see anything but
your frightful reflection.

Two blue pillows and blanket,fragrant coffee,chopin nocturne
and the world rolling by light years below me
Gaining perspective miles from home
miles from anywhere-
or not.