Travel Journal Prologue: Chasing the Sunrise

Back home, it's 11:20 AM. Right now, I'm hurtling eastward in a gigantic metal box, at a speed which I can't properly comprehend. I have a window seat, and I'm watching the sun rise over the cloudline. It is surreal. Above, it is still dark enough that the stars are out. As I cast my gaze down towards the cloud, the black tapestry shifts rapidly into a brilliant shade of blue, which in turn gives way to a thin line of orange sunlight. Below that, the clouds still shut out all light. Every few seconds, I realize that these brighter shades have gained a little more ground against the darkness above but against the inky blackness beneath, it will gain not an inch until the sun itself has risen above the clouds. It's like seeing a bizarre rainbow up close. I'm flying into the sunset

It is 1140 now, and the last star is vanishing from my sight. The clouds below remain an impenetrable darkness. I'm waiting for the moment when the sun itself climbs over the edge of the vapor horizon and turns the darkness to a blinding, fluffy white. The line of fire at the cloudline has become much thinner, as the blue sky of day settles in.

1143. The clouds below are turning a very dark blue. You can just barely see their shape if you look close. Every second, their color grows lighter and their shape more definite. Bits of white are appearing at the peaks. Welcome to your life just came on the radio. I've been on an 80's kick at the moment.

1147. The last of the fireline is poking white spikes into the blue sky. Now the plane is turning. By the time the wing recedes, so have these white heralds. The fire is all but faded completely now, but a cap of dark blue still hangs overhead, if you look high enough.

1150. Some of the clouds have become the shade of a dark water. Bits are darker than others, and it reminds of the Missouri River when I'm driving at night. I have to remind myself that I'm tens of thousands of feet in the air to convince myself I'm not looking at a river.

1153. Save for a few scant traces out by the wing, the orange and red colors have faded. The cloudtops have become much more clear, but the remaining traces of darkness continue to obscure any definite shapes. I've still got two hours and forty nine minutes before I reach Munich. I'll get to watch the whole thing.

1156. The clouds are taking shape. The sun itself remains hidden. It may not be visible through my window. Shame. Still pretty.

1158. It is morning now. The sun has more light to shine upon the world, but the clouds are a visible ocean of vapor.

Midnight. The fellow next to me is trying to sleep. I'll steal a few final glances, and then spare him the harsh light. And the window is shut. Damned pretty thing.

1204. OK, that was the last one, now I'll let him sleep.