Life’s like flying an airplane. If you don’t make gradual changes, you’ll find yourself making sudden excessive changes.
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Sheet lightning in the clouds at night can be an ethereal experience. The nav lights on either side guide the plane, reflecting from the clouds with red and green. Breaking out into the clear is like a vision revealed.
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Early morning takeoffs are contemplative – the dew on the windshield, the moisture dripping from the wings while patches of ground-fog hang here and there clouding my memory like time.
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The opaque light of flying under high clouds sometimes makes me feel as if I’m flying around in an oil painting.
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Life leaves scars only if you live it.
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Pink sunrise cirrus, always softer seeming, appears more seductive than the reddish strato cu of sunset. Or does sunrise seduce me into another day while sunset sets me free again?
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Why does no one ever see the really good landings? Maybe it’s best that way. The good things are always savored alone.
What are your thoughts?