My Head is in the Clouds
My Head is in the Clouds
And when, suddenly, the cabin vanishes, I rejoice. The metal hull, the rows of seats, the quiet murmurs of the other passengers, they have all dissolved as if outside the window. My physical body is still cocooned in that cramped airline seat, but my mind has completely broken free. I’ve left the interior world behind and stepped directly out into the stratosphere.
Looking at this view, it’s as if I am no longer just travelling through the sky; I am becoming a part of it. The composition is split by a blinding, brilliant horizon line of gold and white light. Like a pure, energetic tear between the heavens and the earth. Below me, the tops of the clouds stretch out like a vast, frozen ocean of soft purples and deep, oceanic blues, holding the shadows of the world below. Above, the atmosphere thins into an ethereal, pale turquoise, a quiet void that feels completely untouched by human anxieties.
The fiery oranges and hot magentas that stalked me from the terminal lobby to the cabin floor are still here, but they’ve been completely transformed. They aren't representing internal friction or a racing mind anymore. Now, they are the literal colours of the dawn, painting the edges of the clouds with an intense, raw beauty. The chaotic energy has finally found its purpose. It’s no longer a riot; it’s a revelation.
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