patchworkmemory

Watching Airplanes Written May 2, 2008 Another silver bullet with wings slicing through the air, thirty-thousand feet over head. That was five so far. She was keeping count. There was nothing better to do. Everyone else had been calling  it a beautiful day, and she had figured that a stroll to the park down the street from her place wouldn't do to hurt. So there she was now, sitting out on the organic greenery of artificial nature, watching airplanes fly over her head and she felt marvelously inconsequential. Not that this was a change, really. She always felt that way. But it was a pleasant change to have the feeling be in relation to air