Flying back to my home from home

I was staring out the window of our Canadair RegionalJet on our way back to a stormy Boston, The following happened:

Peering down, the surface cloudy from laden moisture. The soft cold air coating my nostrils with a freshness. Below the patch surface. There are lights below. Lights shimmering in the murk below. If I reach out, I dream I can touch this invisible surface but reason is telling me it is not there. Still, I sit here, way up here, looking down and imagine ripples in my past. Ripples distorting this invisible surface. Ripples bouncing the dying sunlight in every direction.

It was a stressful week at the client's offices in Georgetown, MD. A logistical pain-in-the-ass. The return car journey to the return flight was to be expected, but we arrived at the airport on turn. We were greeted with a security search queue that almost went out the terminal doors back into the parking lot. Tensions heightened. We raced to the gate after being cleared by security only to find out our flight to Boston was to be delayed. For two whole hours. God bless america.