Inside the cabin, I noticed dozens of faces glued to the windows, the only sound the occasional oohs and aahs of wonder, with the attendants leading the random chorus.
I turned as motion outside the window caught my eye. The wings, gently flapping, showed a grace of lapping waves.
On our descent we crossed over a patch-work quilt of greens and browns–farms on hilly terrain that reminded me of my bed on Saturday mornings, hastily made on my way to weekend adventures with lumps of socks and stuffed animals beneath.
While still fairly high, the plane abruptly, yet gracefully, slowed– with a slight lift and reversal of motion– and alighted on an enormous bird house high in the branches of a Sequoia.
We all just sat, all agog and awed.