Flying Over Christmas Morning

Roads branch
into lanes
bearing fruit
of tiny farms,
a patchwork quilt.
Ten thousand feet.

Angels
blow smoke
over the hills,
settles
in ravines.
Twenty thousand feet.

A thin band
of yellow and red,
smudges
the horizon–
blue above, gray below.
Thirty thousand feet.

Angelic smoke
now covers all,
an untaut blanket
rippled with waves
frozen in time.
Forty thousand feet.

The white carpet
welcomes
His entrance,
too bright
in my window.
And holding.

Β 


 

18 thoughts on “Flying Over Christmas Morning

  1. @Dustus, thank you. Was a very smooth flight with lots to ponder. :)@Brian, made me laugh with your comment. πŸ™‚ Fortunately this flight was smooth sailing.@Hope, thank you!@Glynn, appreciate that. It was cool to see the ground fog slowly change to carpet with the onset of clouds.@Desert Rose, me too. πŸ™‚ Thanks for the comment.@Eric, thanks!@Monkey Man, thank you for visiting Lifesummit!@Steve, really appreciate it and glad it flowed well during your read.@Carrie, thank you and I appreciate the comment!

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