my head in the clouds

I chose my seat on the 737-200 and sank down, already weary from three hours of travel from my hostel in Edinburgh to the plane at Glasgow-Prestwick, and not yet even half way through my journey back to Galway.

"I don't know about y'all, but this is my first time to Ayerland."

I'd chosen poorly; stationed right in front of three American sorority girls from the south -- not a prejudiced statement, I swear (!) just a descriptive one. Anyway, they were the loud, chatterbox type.

"I'm so excited about Dublin I can't believe this flight's only 30 minutes it takes 40 just from Little Rock to Dallas We need to pick up an event guide when we get to Temple Bar Oh the plane sure is goin fast on the runway ILoveThisPartWhenWeTakeOffIFeelLikeTheBackOfThePlaneIsGonnaHitTheGround-"

------UP------breathe.

We lifted off, and I was deaf to the chatter. The fog thwarted my last glimpses of Scotland, but we triumphed over the poor, overcast weather by breaking through -- up through -- the clouds to the sky above the sky -- the great wide open.

The cloud landscape was no less interesting than that of Scotland's below; there were castles with towers and moats, a mountain range to the south, gentle rolling hills, peninsulas, and volcanic islands, with billowing pillows of themselvesmoke caught in a motionless plume from their craters.

We come to a cloud clearing -- cliff -- off which the sun dives and skips across a thousand million ripples on the sea, a broad expanse of light that the ocean waves on one side of push those in front of them to enter-- eager to sun themselves -- then, reaching the other side, wave back in thanks to the sun before fading disappearing into an anonymous wrinkle in the vastness.

We land, and no sooner are inside the door of the the airport when the security man receives an important request:

"Excuse me sir, [I'm the president of my sorority and] do you know where we can pick up our luggage?"

"Just follow the people, miss."