Departure

My father drove me to the airport, dark and early. On our way, we passed through patches of heavy fog and wondered if it would affect my flight. The airport was shrouded in the thickest of it, but all the flights seemed to be on time. I made it through security with no troubles except that they took a can of bug-repellant that I'd forgotten was in my pack. Oh well. I have two more in my checked luggage.

Before we took off from Spokane, a crew of reflector-clad men ran around the plane knocking off ice and spraying an anti-freezing reagent to remove ice and frost that had built up over night.

Now I'm bound for Minneapolis where the temperature, the pilot said, is a balmy one degree. Below me is an endless grid of frozen fields, they look like marbled bathroom tile. The ladies sitting next to me are Christians and we have a few mutual acquaintances in back in Moscow. We experienced some turbulence a little earlier, and it's always a little unsettling to see the wings wagging up and down, bouncing around and over some invisible force.