Tiny Towns

Looking out of the aircraft window at night I marvel at all the tiny lights that make up the tiny towns below. In between the pockets of brightness looms the shadows in between. Every place I fly over is different. Leaving LA is a spectacular sight of glowing colors and tangled streets. All roads leading somewhere, anywhere. Other unknown towns I pass on my journey in the sky have lights strewn far and few between, darkness more prevalent than the light. I am the little town, mostly full of darkness with patches of light, enough to illuminate some of the blackness within. Sometimes the lights burn out and dim, no one can tell from far away. Through the tiny window in a plane I observe the impossibly small world below. So tighty and everything in order. Everything always looks better from far away. That way no one can see what hides in the crevices, no one can see the chaos in the states, counties, or cities. From up here all I know is that time is suspended, on pause for a moment while life spins round down on the ground below. 

Sometimes I want to stay in the sky never to land. Avoiding life and the weight of the unknown. I feel safe here, away from the craziness of the ant colony, us humans call home. 

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