As we level out from our steep ascent I spy something beginning with sea
Colourful cargo containers sit stacked in large numbers alongside the shore
Resembling a curiously congruous set of supersized Cuisenaire rods
Adjacent factories and an assortment of other tired and grimy industrial buildings jar the eye
But happily within minutes these unappealing urban structures give way to an idyllic panorama featuring the geometric patchwork quilt of farmers’ fields
Whose rural palette offers up an unlimited and dazzling range of greens and browns
Framing this glorious array of hues are thick grey highways, bending languorously,
as they deliver Matchbox cars to Lego towns like the Hot Wheels tracks of my youth
Meanwhile narrow byways snake amongst the wilderness, largely unseen, and even less often explored by earthbound travellers
Creamy dollops on distant peaks, and the thick rich icing of soon-to-be vacated snowfields bear testimony to winter’s ongoing influence
Though spring is now the season of currency
A myriad of fire trails carve hairline cracks through the dense forests
Stark reminders of the small margins that exist between the flourishing Australian bush
and its mortal enemy
Waterways doodle their way across the arresting landscape in apparently random fashion
Yet always at the beck and call of gravity’s invisible inexorable force
Inexorable you say?
This giant airborne steel tube bearing hundreds of seemingly intrepid souls begs to differ
But in truth, regardless of our persuasion, we all secretly and silently share a prayer
That today is not the day when gravity manages to exact its revenge
Momentarily I divert my attention to my fellow passengers, casting a judgmental eye
Many scroll furiously through an unending catalogue of selfies, memes, video clips and shared dinner plates
Unwilling to linger longer than cursory analysis requires, but equally unable to look away
And thus oblivious to the wonders that may well reward a mere quarter turn
The Daily Bugle has no last post these days it seems
But beware the smug disapproval I remind myself
Had I not been the fortunate beneficiary of today’s boarding pass ballot
I too would almost certainly have been amongst the nose-down throng
Ensconced in some arguably antisocial medium
Or searching vainly for a once-hot chip of legitimate news and objectivity
Like a peckish seagull foraging on the empty beach of banality and paid comment
Returning my gaze to the starboard side I find terra firma is now obscured by a cotton wool blanket of low cloud, stretching as far as these myopic eyes can see
Like the remnants of a thousand soft toys, ravaged and then strewn about by hundreds of playful interplanetary puppies
I close a lid, and smile inwardly at the preposterous splendour of my vantage point
When I re-open: seconds or minutes later, who can say?
I discover red tiled roofs and impossibly blue swimming pools have become de rigueur
as the countryside’s vastness gives way to the regimen of suburban allotments
Tray tables up, landing gear down
Seatbelts on, electronic devices off
It seems even this great white bird can’t fly forever
More’s the pity
But even though abruptly wrenched from my idle dreaming
I still have ample time as we descend to reflect on my immense good fortune
Not just today, but every day, to call this spectacular ancient land home