Across The Skies

Flying across the country in the middle of winter can be a surreal undertaking. This flight seemed stranger than most as half the country is entrenched in snow while the other half seems more like fall. Regardless of snow-cover though, the country in winter seems color-bleached. The ground takes on an 8-bit hue, where not quite all the shades of gray exist -- replaced by a joyless brown. Even the snowless land strives for Soviet-like uniformity as it is all dead. If Lake Michigan were alive (it might be making strong steps in that direction), I'm sure it would somehow manage to turn a sludge brown as well. At the same time, while the color of the earth isn't, the wildly varying topography of Wyoming and Nebraska is readily apparent. The view out the plastic life barrier is topologic. The multi-hued fields and sun-browned hills transform into shades on a map. You no longer have to wonder about the feasibility of traversal. I oftentimes wonder if I could hike over a geological feature -- much the same as, once on that geological feature, I will find the highest point therein and proceed to urinate from it. With the snow, it is becomes a simple task to determine. Is it mostly white? You could cartwheel across the surface. Black? The only cartwheels would be your soon-to-be corpse plummeting from an icy crevasse. Somehow though, time freezes. You step from one world into a foreignly familiar haunt with disturbing ease.