The wings extend, reaching for the horizon.
There the gentle earth curves from our sight,
whilst up above the hazy blue invites us
like freshly laundered duvets. We dive in.

Below the fields stretch out, a honeycomb
of every green from darkened moss to sun,
detailed by hedgerow lattices and throbbing
tarmac veins. Soon distant trees compress.

Lazily we rise and patterns change
blurring in their complexity and scope.
Individual fields combine. Gradually
we dissipate and all is reconciled.

Flying to Turkey in an unexpectedly sunny morning.
(07.04.26)

© Ben Quant 2026