Friday, June 01, 2007
I'm on a propeller plane inside a cloud. I think we're somewhere above California, but I can't see anything beyond white mist.
Ahh, there we go: there's the sun, sitting low at 6:40 p.m. Pacific Coast time, and there are the acres of segmented rectangular fields, the circles in squares, green, brown, and tan.
The plane is aimed downward now. We should beat the sun to the ground and arrive in about 20 minutes.
Now the landscape is a mess of dwellings and storage structures, with thick arteries running at angles through the clusters of development. There's the ellipse of a football field and track.
And now we're back to the squares, rectangles, and circles.
One feels especially ineloquent when trying to speak through one's thumbs, punching away at tiny plastic buttons. It's like playing the piano with your feet.
Mountains. Interestingly, as the dry land rises in the folds of the mountains, the number of trees begins to grow from a smattering to a thick blanket.
Dry streams. Irrigation canals. No houses or structures. Nothing but planet for as far as I can see now, just ten minutes out of LAX.
Turbulence. More mountains.
We flew right over Dodger Stadium (a crowd was beginning to form in the expensive seats), past downtown, over the endless warehouses, the thousands of trailer trucks sout of downtown.
I saw a kid drive to the hole on teeming basketball courts in south L.A.
On the ground now, waiting on the tarmac for my bags. Smiling Eskimos on all the Alaska Airlines planes all around me.
Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld (after landing)