The therapy of plane watching

It is surprising how much difference thirty minutes makes. It’s the difference between clogged interstates and a hassle free ride. It’s the difference between darkened windows and the warm glow of home lights. On my early weeks, I have to leave the house at 6:30 am, and the world is mostly dark and still. Traffic gradually increases as time passes and as I work my way farther into Gwinnett county. By the time I reach Peachtree Industrial around 7:00, darkness scatters in the presence of countless racing lights. While sitting at this chaotic intersection on Monday, I glanced into the vast sky and spotted the steady blink of four airplanes. I wondered how many more I could see if all of the light pollution were removed for a few seconds. I used to watch the planes while staring out across Mary Alice Park and have counted as many as eight at once. Eight planes in that one, small space of sky. Watching the criss-cross of paths is therapeutic. I feel instant calm and a contented sense of insignificance.