Floating Out the Window

Out the Cabin Window

A jet plane is wheeling
through the high
cloud bank like a leaf
bouncing down
a great grey river. The engine
pulses its way northward.

The pilot already sees
the ocean I can only feel.

At my window,
set in it's crooked
frame, here
above the field
where the robins play,
here is the earth.

I am wheeling
in spirals and floating
out the window.

I am...
I am of the earth.

I am in wonder
about the pilots
at the plane's controls,
imagining them
as they gaze out the portholes
from that fragile craft.

Their windows cover
such a wide trajectory of sight,
yet they hold no more
beauty than this cabin's pane.

Flying high or falling
in love with the ordinary,
it's all the same.

How good it is to live!
How good it is
to witness what is right
here close to the dewy
grass, bent with the lucky
burden of growth.

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(c) Rick Sievers, 2010, All Rights Reserved