Lights below, lights above

A few weekends ago, I went to Brussels. A trip and a city I thoroughly enjoy.

The flight is always good, despite the food and the lack of sleep. I'm not the best flier. Takeoff--that moment when the plane, finally gaining enough speed, slips the surly bonds of the earth and reaches into the air--leaves me jumpy. Then I look out the window. There, below me, is a carpet of light that stretches far and wide. And soon, darkness, save for the light of the moon, helping to guide our way. Then, as the morning light edges over the horizon, sights once thought to be only a memory--terra cotta roofs, canals, an atom of iron--welcome you back.