Daniel Grayling Fogelberg August 13, 1951 - December 16, 2007
Shimmer of the Shine
After taking off from ATL, I waited until the okay was issued for electronic devices. I have my doubts as to why an IPOD would be detrimental to the computers flying the plane, but since my flying faith rests in the computer systems and the hands of the pilots, I would stand on my head the entire flight if such a request were made to ensure safety 37,000 feet up into the heavens. And I do get by with a little help from my flying angels.
Adjusting my ear buds, I pulled the shade down and settled off to sleep listening to a classical piano track. When I pulled up the shade, I found I had dozed all the way to NYC. I am simple. Seeing the city always excites me. Or just seeing a highway sign pointing to the city.
The autumn sun was shining on Manhattan and Central Park. I smiled to think of all the lives being lived as I flew over, reminding me of my post, http://tocatchathought.blogspot.com/2013/09/count-leaves.html The plane's route hugged the eastern seaboard until about Boston. It looked as if a narrow white pencil had been used to outline where the sea touched the land. We were still too high to distinguish more than what was already perceived as a building or small blips in the water that had to be ships.
The plane edged out over the Atlantic, heading towards Maine but still in easy sight of the coastline. As the plane descended, the faint white lines begin to show movement. A few scattered islands begin to appear out from the land as if rocks had been skipped out from the beach, glancing the water eight or nine times before sinking into the water, done over and over by a meticulous hand in another time. In descent, lighthouses began to be visible on top of the tiny islands and the white wash of waves grew broader against the gray stones.
Sun on the water revealed the rhythm of uncapped waves floating at the surface, rolling slowly towards the land like a blue lined page of paper but with broken places. A darker, silvery blue color of water, currents, skimmed below in a second layer.
The gold of the sun. The silvery blue. The shimmer of the shine.
My music man had already captured the moment. The line came to mind. From the air or from his sailboat, he had seen the magic in this water. Now the wonder of those same Maine waters had caught my breath and my vision blurred. For a few seconds, everything in my being rejoiced and worshipped, perfectly.
Dan Fogelberg, Magic Every Moment from River of Souls 1993
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All those years ago, the very first notes of his music captured my heart. Jackson. A slumber party with pizza and onion dip, sitting in the dark, listening to the album. We had no boyfriends but still we had secret desires to share. The album played over and over. It was not hard to fall in love with this man and his beautiful voice and music. The gift of his life and music will always be cherished. To The Morning from Home Free, 1972.
The picture is my Dan Fogelberg homage on the bulletin board by my desk. The other picture is me on a long ago Christmas morning, holding my first album, his second release, Souvenirs. I'm listening on my new Sony headphones.
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