As I looked out the tiny portal of my window seat, other jets sped through the cold blue like toys. At 36,000 feet the air temperature was 81 below, and Ohio spread out below me like a lumpy gray quilt shot through with shiny threads of rivers. We were heading northwest, and every time I looked away from the window the cabin was bronze and dusky until my eyes adjusted from the sun to the plain gloom of the plane. Even so, after a lifetime of flying, I couldn’t look away: there was literally too much to see.
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