The Aerie
We're flying now over central Quebec at 600 miles per hour, moving opposite the planet's rotation so that our night will pass in a mere four or five hours rather than the customary eight of summer. This is a fitting metaphor for the whole of this summer, and the past year. Even life itself, if one wants to get maudlin.
Our air speed is 597 miles per hour, but our ground speed is 957 mph, suggesting that the earth is moving towards us at 360 mph, ignoring the question of the wind.
My music is set to random. I listened to Fastball's 'The Way,' something by Laura Love, and Natalie Merchant's 'Give 'em What They Want.' Then inevitably it pulled up one of my dozens of Michel Thomas German-language CDs. Of all the lessons it could have selected, it pulled up the one I have lately been working on.
When I took my aisle seat at the beginning of my flight, my neighbor said 'So are you affiliated with the Universalist Church?'
After enjoying my nonplussed confusion he nodded over my shoulder and said 'Your daughter's T-shirt.'
As it turns out, the fellow is not merely a Unitarian from Bismark, but he is acquainted with one of my colleagues in my own church.
What are the chances?
Did you ask if I might know him? Things being what they are....