If you don’t know what story cubes are, see the introduction to the story cubes series.
To see the original roll of the story cubes, see yesterday’s post.
Like a bee to a flower, I am drawn to the sky. A thousand times higher than the apple that bopped Newton and blithely defying his gravity, I look down and everything made by man looks no bigger than a trifling beetle.
And yet while I am up here, five miles in the sky and four miles above the summer clouds that look like sheep, doing six hundred miles an hour at home, I think of my other home down there, sometimes a hundred, sometimes a thousand miles away. My oasis where all things good and great reside, feet and paws firmly on terra firma. My wife, my dogs, my books, my writing desk. While I’m up here in this love, this sky, my other loves are down below.
My day job is as an airline pilot. My night job is everything else. I fly for the same reason I write: it’s something I can’t not do. If I go too long without doing either, I get cranky. (Or, if you ask my wife, more cranky.) I get a different, marvelous perspective on the world when I’m flying, and when I’m writing, I get a perspective on a different world: one of my own creation. Sometimes it’s marvelous too.
The comments section is the perfect place for what you came up with. I’m sure you did better than I did this week!
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