The airplane rode through the sky as if it were on sleek and perfect tracks.
The airplane was her luck dragon, the one that would take her most of the way.
The airplane lands upon the brightly lit tarmac, wheels kissing earth with a small and joyous bounce.
She moves ever onward in the hallowed space between heavens and Earth, that graceful bird of silver-wing.
The airplane felt like home to Claude, he'd flown in them so often. He could curl up and sleep as easily as dozing on the couch. The engines roared and the winded buffeted, it was his sky-born cradle, rocked by the winds far above the ground. Even as the engines turned, his brain relaxed into dreaming mode, there were thousands of miles to go and all he had to do was let this technological bird fly him there.
The airplane flies above a cotton-cloud Earth.
From the night comes a sound as if thunder could be stretched. So I tilt my head upward, seeking lights that flash, the red and white in the deepest of blue skies. For a moment I am still, feeling the cool air, breathing in a steady rhythm. Then there they are, those crazy passing stars, flying high, ever onward.
From the window of the plane the wing engine is semi illuminated, the lower half shining around the rim, the upper half several shades darker. As the plane dips the line between shadow and light moves, and all the while Olivia listens to the hum of the rotors.