I've been watching planes fly over head, leaving vapour trails in their wake, and fantasising about where they are going or where they have been.
In another lifetime I would fly quite frequently, every couple of months, and loved the excitement and thrill of soaring through the sky. I would look out the window and admire the tops of the clouds, their magical landscape. Occasionally I would catch a glimpse of the land or sea beneath, putting into perpsective the fragility of a lump of metal thousands of feet above, and the minutia of people compared to the earths mass. We are but a speck.
Looking up at the planes, they themselves disappear into nothing more than a speck.
I wonder where they are going. And will I get a postcard.
Joining in with The Gallery at Sticky Fingers and the prompt of Sky.