Saturday, January 24, 2015
From On High
I’m flying across the continent
In a coveted window seat,
Observing the states below me,
At thirty-three thousand feet.
So many towns look miniature,
Small as the point of a pin…
I wonder how my life would be,
Had I picked one point and settled in?
Could I water ski on the lake below,
Looking now like a thimble pond?
Is there a person now invisible…
To whom I’d grow incredibly fond?
I bet if I made the return trip,
In a car and not so fast…
I’d see the same towns magnified,
With still the same questions asked.