It’s the only place to start. The beginning of the day and the start of the trip back to England, the country of my young womanhood.
I don’t usually sit by the window when we fly together. Towards the end of our flight, Steve had got up to stretch his legs and I picked up my camera and slid across to his seat. I looked out of the window as we flew into the morning, nearing the shores of the British isles. Just then I was startled to see, out of the corner of my eye, a flash, almost like a flame coming from the jet engine under the wing. It was glowing with the reflected sunrise just as if on fire. Such golden promise for the future.
And so the day began, with the rising sun appearing over the blue and white cloud layer beneath. A dawn in the sky has such an immense purity about it, with all of the earthly complexities rolling and tumbling beneath the clarity of the still sky blue yonder. This so well describes our stories as we recall and relate them, with their moments of supreme clarity shining still through the confusion beneath that threatens to suck them under.
My England always has an airplane at the beginning and at the end of it. And I remembered back to where I was many years ago, sitting in an airplane flying from Montreal to London for the very first time. So this return would be a trip for memories and for clarity. I really wanted to cut through to the essence and this dawn was the way to begin, before we started our bumpy descent through the ever present cloud layer lying over England.