I look down upon an endless sea of white cloud tops lit by the morning sun chasing away the shadows of night.
I look out and see this once, and I start writing. And then twice, and I write some more. And then a third time.
After an hour has passed and we begin our descent into Birmingham, I close my notebook and put my pencil away. And I gaze out the window again.
Certainly, I think… certainly I have looked out this window enough. Certainly there is nothing else those clouds will tell me, no new message they will suggest. Certainly there is nothing more to write.
But just then our airplane banks sharply. The morning sun reflects off the silver wing, making me squint. And in the distance it glints off a winding river snaking its way to the Gulf.
I take my pencil and open my notebook. No, there was indeed nothing else to see, nothing else to write. I just thought I’d record that fact.