When I found this photo in my catalog, I knew that I had to use it. It is not a picture of a North Korean missile or some catastrophic aircraft incident, but a westbound airplane’s normally fluffy white contrails that at forty-thousand feet has caught the day’s last rays of the setting sun and have turned the color of fire. It was taken this summer at the cabin, the land of always interesting sunsets. I rotated it all cockeyed, just to better fit into the format of this post. I especially like the contrail’s juxtaposition with the lower darker clouds.
Joanie drove us to Lambert, where we hopped a plane to Dallas and then connected to San Jose. Where we rented a car and drove down to Monterey, to see my father and brother.