Contrails In the Sky

There's not a cloud in the pristine Colorado sky, But for a myriad of feathery contrails left by airplanes flying high. I wonder from whence they came and what are their destinations, As they form arrow-straight patterns of many variations. They're probably having lunch now, the proverbial pretzels and coke, The pilot ever alert with steady hands upon the yoke. What a view that must be from thirty-thousand feet, Especially for those lucky folks who have a window seat! What dramas, I muse, are being played out among those aboard. Some read, others snooze, others keep glazed-eyed seat mates bored! Harried moms trying to keep their kids from going berserk; Stressed-out business travelers poring over reams of paper work! A lonely soldier at a window seat stares dolefully out in to space, Holding in his heart the memory of his sweetheart's last embrace. A newly minted grandmother whose face is just a-beaming, Going to see the new-born babe for whom she has been dreaming! With clenched white knuckles, tense first-time flyers abound. A newly-wed pair exchange a kiss, not caring who's around! The silvery jet speeds upon its way, the contrails dissipate, With travelers anticipating joyous reunions awaiting them at the gate! Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)