The landscape below us becomes familiar
and I have a sense of homecoming
in my adopted land,
as we circle Faro,
defying gravity in this metal canister.
I see our shadow race below us
as the salt marshes come closer,
looking like blue-green curds
their organic shapes held together
by threads of green salt bush banks.
Along the edge of the land
there is the golden sand
and the white, lacy froth
and the blue, blue sea
wrinkling into the far distance.
I hold my breath as we roar
above the runway
and press down into my shoes,
head down, gripping hands
I clear away all plans
Then we're stopped
and standing on the tarmac.
New plans are made. Prayers are said.
Bags are grabbed
'Thank you God for our daily bread'.
(Gravity,plans, thread, salt, breath shadow, sands, shoes, bread, sense, head, landscape)