Flying

Flying over Salt Lake city, there is what looks to be vast chemical spills, whitish caked earth in patterns that flow like water looking for low ground. Dried salt, it isn’t beautiful like mountains or sunsets, or radiant smiles, but somehow in it’s strange natural mystery, on a scale difficult to comprehend from the height of a place, it becomes beautiful. PJ Harvey is singing to me, and telling me that someday we’ll float. She’s telling me to take life as it comes. This tiny plane is lowering into the basin surrounded by mountains with first snows dusted on top. As we glide above the earth’s surface, at speeds I can’t understand, to a place I’ve never been, people I’ve never met, and an experience I have no desire to create expectations for, I can’t help but feel taking it as it comes at a certain point in our lives gets easier. Letting go of the past to float and bounce and speed over salt flats, mountains, lakes, other livelihoods, and sunshine on earth my feet will never touch. Strange the places our choices leave behind, the places we alight even for moments, hours or weeks. Such a release today into unknown, pattern and beauty in chaos. Perhaps this sounds too philosophical or flighty, but typing this a week after I wrote it, it is all the more real feeling. In a week my dog has died, I have new friends, a relationship with a new place, etc. These forms are rising up while others melt silently back into the ground.

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