Today I arrived at my sister's house on the way back home from a visit with family out of state for the holiday. Our final flight was delayed by two hours, and I am so glad it was.
It was already dark out, the sun had set and there was nothing left even on the horizon. From the previous flight, I knew the moon was out, and it was nearly full. Caught up in the delay, I'd forgotten to look for the moon outside my window (how shameful of me!). As the city lights faded away below and behind us, I watched the dark landscape creep by. Eventually I lost interest for a while and directed my attention elsewhere. When I peered back out the window I saw a sight that will stay with me for quite some time.
During the moment, I felt the urge to record my feelings, and the only suitable stationary at hand was the napkin provided with my water. This is what I wrote:
The moonlit mountains glittered with snow as she flew over peacefully, feeling incredibly nostalgic. Belonging washed over her with the icy air that threatened to stop her heart. She felt tears welling with the warmth of memories.
After settling in for the night, I had time to gather my thoughts and reorganize them a bit. This is what happens when my pure, raw inspiration is nurtured and rounded:
The moonlit mountains glistened with snow for miles, their brilliance undisturbed by the complete lack of clouds. She flew peacefully, warm nostalgia manifesting in the tears welling in her eyes. Belonging washed over her body with the icy air that dared to try to still her breath so full of life.
Mainly a record of my more interesting dreams that I was able to remember after waking up. (Apparently my uncontrollable confessions, as well. In the form of poetry. All to the same man.)