Or maybe that was the two tall glasses of fresh orange juice and no bathroom.
At any rate, I was bouncy and giddy and antsy to get home.
My seatmate was Ouro Branco, and he seemed just as bubbly as I was. He'd point out the window at the wing extending into the sky and yell, "nyairplane! nyairplane! Vrroom - vrooooom!" The blueblueblue heavens extended in every direction and the sun was so blinding white I couldn't even risk a glance out the window on the other side. There was a solid floor of white cotton-ball clouds thick enough to bounce on below us. They looked like they just melded into the expanse on the distant horizon.
Coming up on Detroit-Metro, we began our descent below the clouds. It was dank. Drizzly. Dark. Dreary. And lots of other adjectives starting with D. Including "dyuck."
Okay, that's not a word, but it should be.
At any rate, we could not see the sun. The world around me didn't look like it had ever heard the word. Trees bare and bleak and everyone walking around looking beat. (I'm really into alliteration today.)
I've only been home for three days now, but all I've heard about is the Big Three Bailout. It's on TV. Radio. At the check-out counter at Kohls. Everyone has an opinion, everyone is incensed. Millions of jobs are on the line. Many of which are my friends and family. Everyone is worried, tense, and panicky. WHAT WILL HAPPEN? Will the government help? Or will capitalism run its course? Nobody knows.
I have an opinion, but I will not voice it here. I'm strictly non-political whenever someone else is. But here is my thing; I know the sun is still shining. Clouds are temporary. The sun is permanent. Above the cloud ceiling is a celestial blue expanse brighter than our eyes can handle. Of that I know.