Returning home

When I leave Paris, I can see far into the distance from the airplane. Itís a rather flat city that seems to go on for kilometers in every direction. Today with a light haze between me and the ground, it looks as if Paris is behind a veil. I peered out the window, but couldnít make out much of the city at all. Sometimes, I can see the Arc de Triomphe, the Seine, and the Eiffel Tower. Today, all I see are a few brownish patches of land, a river, and an accumulation of buildings, which I think is the city.

The flight is short, but we cover so much territory. I love looking out to see the snowcapped mountains. I can't recognize the cities we go over, but I enjoy seeing them as we fly by.

As we approach Florence, orange streetlights outline the numerous streets below. The countryside outside of Florence looks as if it were magically pieced together like a puzzle. When the plane veers toward the city, more of it is illuminated. The sky is almost black except for a few light blue sections where the sun is trying to peek through.

Once I see the Arno snake through the valley, I know we are heading toward the city. I spot a few buildings and monuments in the distance. Sometimes, right before we land, I can see the top of the Duomo.

We fly over the bus depot with busses parked in every direction and then the highway leading in and out of the city. We gently touch down. At the end of the short runway, the plane turns around to park. When the engine turns off, three words come to me: I am home.

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