Wednesday, June 3, 2009 at 7:07pm
My Lord, What a Morning!
Column: My Day
Flying at night is about as exciting as watching grass grow especially if it is an international flight.
On a recent trip to Frankfurt via Philadelphia, I boarded Lufthansa Airlines for an all night flight. Our expected arrival in Frankfurt was 7:30 AM. Reading four newspapers, a glass of wine and a nap was first on the agenda and the rest of the trip was what, you guessed it. . . boring.
The hours have their way of passing. Checking out the in-house monitor again after flying about six hours, we were still at 39,000.ft., with one hour and thirty-four minutes to destination. Out of sheer boredom, I raised the window shade, not really looking for anything, just something to do. At first glance there was nothing, but then my eyes caught a ‘streaker’, a glimmer of brilliant red, perfectly balanced, drown with a ruler. I became intense and mesmerized all at the same time because I recognized distinctly and almost instantaneously it was a hint of light. In real familiar words, the ‘crack of dawn’. The crack was unmistakably awesome. A long strait straight of one single color in a neat narrow line similar to a continuous ribbon that has no cut off. My view spanned three windows, thanks to my neighbor from Paris who is also watching. This was the ‘crack of dawn’ so many used so loosely, with no concept of its majesty. I desperately started looking for pen and paper to attempt recording the opening ceremony of the day. I tore a page out of a magazine and started to write.
The first color started to fade away into whites, creams, lemon lite and mustard all followed in an ultra slim fine point line. The brush rose-to-red color darted in and out with a ballet dancer’s strut. The flight attendant is serving breakfast now and I answer ‘yes’ to whatever. I was absolutely spellbound and the 39,000 feet was a constant in my head.
In a split second more lightseeking moments spread across the horizon like real butter on whole wheat toast. The clouds now graduated from dialing dark to the muddy Mississippi. The towering wing of the glorious workhorse 747 framed the moments. The day emerged with a flood of billowing clouds bowing as a nervous debutante making her debut to society. The muddy Mississippi clouds goes through some changes ranging from stone gray to charcoal to blue gray with a sheen. The ribbon is ironed out to ruffles, spilling over like the arrival of expensive gowns at a charity fashion gala. The ‘crack of day’ takes only a few minutes and the light designated for the day is in your face. In a distance the clouds carrying the remaining darkness yields to the light which reminded me of the rapid mighty force of the Niagara Fall in upper state New York, without the noise.
My Lord, what a morning!
The colors are all anew, now a sequence symphony of sand, copper, gold, all bold and beautiful on the face of this new day. What happened next had me holding my breath with my mouth opened. The creator, with a masterstroke starting painting a rush hour lighted 99-lane freeway across the sky using his wide angle lens. The only steadfast, unmovable abound was the left wing of the 747. The day, moving from darkness to light, opened up with as much grandeur, pomp and circumstance as DSL when it was first introduced. So here we were between man and the heavens witnessing the order of a new day.
For the first time in my life, I found myself writing an article I did not want to close. There was so much to say and no more space, but in conclusion I surmised that this unforgettable image had nothing to do with technology, space ships visiting Mars, electric or hydrogen cars, nuclear energy, or natural disasters. This unforgettable image had no man made intervention, no star war special effects. This unforgettable image had a very simple six word message. There must be a God somewhere. And he has given me another day to watch and see the grass grow.
— — —
Ester Davis is a celebrated television host/producer on PAX-TV. She can be reached at esterdavis.com.
On a recent trip to Frankfurt via Philadelphia, I boarded Lufthansa Airlines for an all night flight. Our expected arrival in Frankfurt was 7:30 AM. Reading four newspapers, a glass of wine and a nap was first on the agenda and the rest of the trip was what, you guessed it. . . boring.
The hours have their way of passing. Checking out the in-house monitor again after flying about six hours, we were still at 39,000.ft., with one hour and thirty-four minutes to destination. Out of sheer boredom, I raised the window shade, not really looking for anything, just something to do. At first glance there was nothing, but then my eyes caught a ‘streaker’, a glimmer of brilliant red, perfectly balanced, drown with a ruler. I became intense and mesmerized all at the same time because I recognized distinctly and almost instantaneously it was a hint of light. In real familiar words, the ‘crack of dawn’. The crack was unmistakably awesome. A long strait straight of one single color in a neat narrow line similar to a continuous ribbon that has no cut off. My view spanned three windows, thanks to my neighbor from Paris who is also watching. This was the ‘crack of dawn’ so many used so loosely, with no concept of its majesty. I desperately started looking for pen and paper to attempt recording the opening ceremony of the day. I tore a page out of a magazine and started to write.
The first color started to fade away into whites, creams, lemon lite and mustard all followed in an ultra slim fine point line. The brush rose-to-red color darted in and out with a ballet dancer’s strut. The flight attendant is serving breakfast now and I answer ‘yes’ to whatever. I was absolutely spellbound and the 39,000 feet was a constant in my head.
In a split second more lightseeking moments spread across the horizon like real butter on whole wheat toast. The clouds now graduated from dialing dark to the muddy Mississippi. The towering wing of the glorious workhorse 747 framed the moments. The day emerged with a flood of billowing clouds bowing as a nervous debutante making her debut to society. The muddy Mississippi clouds goes through some changes ranging from stone gray to charcoal to blue gray with a sheen. The ribbon is ironed out to ruffles, spilling over like the arrival of expensive gowns at a charity fashion gala. The ‘crack of day’ takes only a few minutes and the light designated for the day is in your face. In a distance the clouds carrying the remaining darkness yields to the light which reminded me of the rapid mighty force of the Niagara Fall in upper state New York, without the noise.
My Lord, what a morning!
The colors are all anew, now a sequence symphony of sand, copper, gold, all bold and beautiful on the face of this new day. What happened next had me holding my breath with my mouth opened. The creator, with a masterstroke starting painting a rush hour lighted 99-lane freeway across the sky using his wide angle lens. The only steadfast, unmovable abound was the left wing of the 747. The day, moving from darkness to light, opened up with as much grandeur, pomp and circumstance as DSL when it was first introduced. So here we were between man and the heavens witnessing the order of a new day.
For the first time in my life, I found myself writing an article I did not want to close. There was so much to say and no more space, but in conclusion I surmised that this unforgettable image had nothing to do with technology, space ships visiting Mars, electric or hydrogen cars, nuclear energy, or natural disasters. This unforgettable image had no man made intervention, no star war special effects. This unforgettable image had a very simple six word message. There must be a God somewhere. And he has given me another day to watch and see the grass grow.
— — —
Ester Davis is a celebrated television host/producer on PAX-TV. She can be reached at esterdavis.com.