Flight 1122 Poem by Curtis Johnson

FLIGHT 1122
by Curtis Johnson

Departing Sacramento, Ca. just past 7: 00 AMPT on a nice Saturday morning, we headed for Chicago.
All is going well as we take off, as the pilot soon announces that we will ascend up to 39,000 feet.

I am now watching the clouds roll back as they seem to hover and move slowly across the hills, valleys, mountains, lakes, and prairies. We continue to climb so very high above the clouds, and above us is only sky.

A bit later now, I am beginning to see mountain tops capped with snow in early July, and I also see patches of green for just a little while. I feel just a slight bit of turbulence, and again I see nothing more purer white or nothing more prettier blue.

It has just now occurred to me that when I touch ground, I shall be more mindful of the clouds and sky of white and blue. I shall remember that we are but tiny creatures carrying on our earthly lives that are sometimes filled with colors of many sorts. The colors of our lives like storms often turn gray, dim, and dark. Furthermore, I am reminded to let peace fill my heart, and speak to me in colors of blue and white, whenever I am troubled and tossed by some earthly concern.

As flight 1122 starts to make its approach towards Chicago, I am seeing white clouds as if they have been purposely distributed in a line of patterned patches. They seem to be just hovering there and waiting for further orders from their maker. A few minutes later now, and I see man made patterns on the grounds below.

As we move closer to Chicago, the pilot is announcing his further descent to 22000 feet and continues to descend. As seat belts are now being buckled, I see landscaped patterns of farm crops appearing as we descend and move closer to the city of Chicago.

Now, just 90 miles from Chicago at 12: 36 PMCT, I see the beauty below displaying life’s pictures of greenery, highways, roadways, and waterways. I also see large patches of clouds floating swiftly, and in just a few minutes we will be touching down.

As we get closer to Chicago in our final approach, I notice that the beautiful white clouds are giving way to the toasty haze through which I can dimly see the Chicago skyline. Just moments ago, I took one last look at the Sears Towers as we slowly descended and touched down at 12: 55 PMCT.

Let it be known, and let it be written, that on July 5,2008, on Southwestern Flight 1122, I saw peaceful clouds of white held sweetly in the clear skies of blue.