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I'm standing patient. Forcing fate. I know what's to come. I draw my sunglasses from my pocket, no more than an innate moment of memory reflex. This mundane act precedes a rush. As the seal breaks I feel it in my spine. Anticipation of what I've experienced countless times before. Passengers behind me avert their eyes as overwhelming light bounces up from the glass runway. I'm back in the arms of the one love who has never failed me. Her name is Aeroplane City.
Secluded in the mountains of the east this compact twenty square mile stretch is more than a paradox, it's one of a kind. No other city in the world is accessible only by airplane. It’s like the moon to most people – they know it’s here, but will never visit it.
I step from my plane, the elements of clean air and busy atmosphere shift my anxious mood into what I can only describe as highly tuned perception. I feel twice as alive the moment I land here. I look down at the glass beneath my plane. My relay isn't resting on some tarmac in a field. It's four stories from ground level in the heart of the dense cityscape. A ballet of flights are landing and departing at etched locations across the landing deck adjacent to the inbound runway. The rotating thrust pivots each relay downward like a bird that has found its nest. Others rise is a hush, defying gravity then propel out and up as if each were in a race to escape. Crews and passengers like mine hurry from each relay toward suspended muted light beacons hovering off the glass which marks access down into the terminal. A small recess in the glass opens after the first passenger reaches it and places their hand into a section of the beam hued in green.
Surrounding me is a breath taking sight of the city to the south, west and north. It is fleeting as I'm expected to exit my plane in a direct line to those same downward openings to enter the terminal. This is the busiest place in the city with a view that can't be savored in the moment, only recalled in wonder....Read more...