New Light

At 25,000 feet the roads and paths and streams look like fishbones.  Spindly and enveloped in the stark white and black of a dark winter evening, I follow the spine and trace each bone.  They lead to rivers and lakes and to the rectangular blocks and winking lights of small towns.  I usually don't fly this low.  I'm used to the wide expanse of blue sky and space.  But at this height, the patterns and shapes seem endless and the golden glow of urban life shines.