Sunday, October 26, 2014


Usually when I fly, I choose an aisle seat. I like to get up and move around without disturbing anyone. Sometimes, however, after a hard trip, I want to dive into a window seat where I can be left alone to stare out at the world and maybe regain a little perspective.

I have flown across the United States many times, but I never get tired of seeing and imagining life in the tiny worlds that pass below.

Places (Daydreams, 2004) was written after returning home on a fifteen hour flight from Saudi Arabia to Houston.

Near the end of the trip, as we crossed above the towns and cities of America, I realized how much I envied the people below. I decided that, on the whole, I would rather be on an evening walk in a small town, than riding a vapor trail at 30, 000 feet.

That trip ultimately marked a turning point in my life.

Glenn K. Currie


We were chasing the sun,

Across the country.

But we were too slow.

Now we fly in its wake.

Breathing a trail,

In gathering darkness.

Below, appearing in the dusk,

Are dollhouse clusters,

Of warm lights.

Small worlds, where evening comes

At measured pace.

Embraced with pleasure.

Towns where people walk,

Looking up to see,

Pastel streaks in the sky.

Places without names.

Quickly fading.

Lost behind the horizon.

Places that never knew,

That they were lost.

But hope they won’t be found.




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