It's odd when you allow yourself to think about it. Odd, yet in these days, commonplace. You step into a machine, settle into a seat which provides varying degrees of comfort, and within a few hours are hundreds, if not thousands of miles from where you began. While in the air you generally have no exact knowledge of what is below you. The U.S, so much if it devoted to agriculture, resembles a rumpled quilt. You see rivers winding their way across the land beneath you. Small towns, sometimes cities with their outlying suburbs dot the landscape. Over water trips are odder still. Miles and miles of ocean, no end in sight. Massive ships appear like tiny waterbugs as they make their way.
Some sights from the air are impressive, if you know when and where to look. The
Alps are an undulating blanket of white. You can be amazed by the enormity of the Grand Canyon. There is the russet hue of Arizona's Red Rock region and the lake studded green of Minnesota. The mass of some cities can best be appreciated from the air. Mexico City sprawls outward until it ends, almost abruptly, half way up the mountains that rise above it. Chicago's lakefront towers mark the shore of Lake Michigan and the beginning of the city and suburban street grid which eventually dissipates into forest preserves and fields.
It's odd, when you allow yourself to think about while staring out the tiny window at the earth below.