The Beauty Beneath My Wings

My first daytime flight between Africa and Europe was a revelation. Why oh why have I trudged this route on the horrendous night flights for so long? Never again, say I. 

To be able to see the giant, sinuous rivers snaking away far below, putting life into perspective was breathtaking. The massive emerald stripe off to the right blazing verdantly in the hazy cinnamon earth was the Nile, mother of life to so much on the continent. How thrilling to enjoy this birds-eye view of Africa!

Kilometre after kilometre, the Sahara desert unfolded under my seat. The sheer size of desert and river, seen from 33 000 feet, was a jolting reminder of how small we humans are. How brash and conceited our dreams and plans. There, laid out in easy simplicity by nature, is a construction the size and complexity of which man couldn't hope to replicate. Millions upon millions of creatures, plants and minerals combine to create an environmental metropolis buzzing in synchronicity. 

Over the Mediterranean we flew. Neat cross-stitched quilts of well-watered colour, roads, Monopoly houses, farms and factories. Snow-capped mountains standing guard. How orderly and different from Africa Europe is! That ice-blue ribbon of water must be the Rhine. Or the Rhone. Geography isn't my strong suit. 

Finally the savage ache in my breast, gouged on takeoff as my body ripped away from it's African mooring, eased to a fizzle of nervous excitement. Even at this ripe middle age, I continue to lead life back to front. It's usual to do the au pair in Europe thing as a young adult, post-school or uni. Not at my age! But then, straitjacketed into a responsible, sensible, box which I didn't fight against when I should have, all the adventures and rebellious experiences I've had began in my mid 30's. Sad, little grey person I am. Was.

Better late than never, I say. One life, endpoint unknown, live it with relish and abandon using every sense we have. Except common sense, that's just plain boring!

One clear benefit of enjoying a dissolute middle age is the enjoyment of things which would have been overlooked by youth. 

I can't imagine an 18-year-old gazing out of the window of seat 32J in awe of the mighty rivers and desert. Such wonder is taken for granted if noticed at all, whereas the miracle of every grain of sand and drop of water lands gently on my sun-freckled, mature skin.

How I appreciate the magnificent beauty beneath the wings of the plane even as I flex my own, ready for the next chapter in the rollicking unravelling of my life.