the plane drives along the runway gathering gumption & then roars, rumbles, coasts through the blurring countryside. with an inhalation, it elevates & subdivisions segment into asymmetrical fields & then we’re in & out of cloud. the flight attendant sits facing the passengers looking as though she’s read this book before. goodbye, England.
the clouds look like the heavy skin of an old woman: woven with thick veings, sagging, at once papery & dense. ending in a distinct line directly above the channel, there are no clouds in France.
the Eiffel tower appears through my little window, rising through the morning haze. hello, Paris!
the clouds look like the heavy skin of an old woman: woven with thick veings, sagging, at once papery & dense. ending in a distinct line directly above the channel, there are no clouds in France.
the Eiffel tower appears through my little window, rising through the morning haze. hello, Paris!
as soon as we landed & the shuttle dropped us off at the arc de triomphe, i said to my parents "i don't think that even one year will be enough. i don't think that i ever want to leave."
No comments:
Post a Comment