Speed Of Light
Entry by: Godai41
30th January 2015
38,000 or more British Air Flight 179’s feet above the terrain light emanates from a multitude of sources.
Innocent flakes of passengers might verily assume a purity of light and speed of light. Light, all its nuances, and its speed, do indeed pervade the shell. That light, including its rate of flow, emanates not merely from the so-titled “sky,†but from within the flight shell itself and the temporary inhabitants housed there, 92,960,000 miles (- 38,000 feet) from the source, aka, the sun.
On the flight’s viewing list one comes upon the oblique light of a rejected bride-to-be in the film Queen as a rejected bride-to-be makes her way through various quandaries and new-found experiences to build a warm, carefully protected light in a viewer’s heart. Even at 92,960,000 miles (-38,000 feet) from the central heating system for one sector of the multiverse, Rani’s solitary honeymoon from New Delhi to Paris and Amsterdam speedily and constantly thrusts, trembling, albeit soft, beams toward the flight viewer’s vulnerable stomach and fore- and back-head.
Likewise, the now muted light of my father’s eyes moving through the oxygen tent he inhabited an hour before his death, 48 years ago to the night, this night, 1/30/15, a steady, even, reliable fatherly speed, also sidled up to me en route. His still au courant humor, slipping a coin into the outstretched hand of a manikin outside a Spring lighted clothing store, flew inside the human cabin of flight 179’s light.
Betimes, as light permitted, I checked my watch, stalwartly set and maintained by me on Delhi light (origin of my return journey) to contain the delicate Delhi light I still nurtured, yes, to find out how much light had passed and at what speed, there, here, everywhere.
Shy yet heartfelt, the softly, even coyly, drifting light of flight 179’s filled stewardess R’s fully, speedily lit visage while she pondered my reminiscence about the more intermittent light on the older stewards’ faces seen on my passage—not her’s-- just prior Delhi to London interlude.
Passengers heading east toward Doha en route to Delhi via Qatar airlines the previous week, was the more speedily motioned and conglomerated light you garnered merely imagined?
end of submission
Readers, please note the film title, Queen, is italicized but it doesn't come through in the edited version. Thank you.
Innocent flakes of passengers might verily assume a purity of light and speed of light. Light, all its nuances, and its speed, do indeed pervade the shell. That light, including its rate of flow, emanates not merely from the so-titled “sky,†but from within the flight shell itself and the temporary inhabitants housed there, 92,960,000 miles (- 38,000 feet) from the source, aka, the sun.
On the flight’s viewing list one comes upon the oblique light of a rejected bride-to-be in the film Queen as a rejected bride-to-be makes her way through various quandaries and new-found experiences to build a warm, carefully protected light in a viewer’s heart. Even at 92,960,000 miles (-38,000 feet) from the central heating system for one sector of the multiverse, Rani’s solitary honeymoon from New Delhi to Paris and Amsterdam speedily and constantly thrusts, trembling, albeit soft, beams toward the flight viewer’s vulnerable stomach and fore- and back-head.
Likewise, the now muted light of my father’s eyes moving through the oxygen tent he inhabited an hour before his death, 48 years ago to the night, this night, 1/30/15, a steady, even, reliable fatherly speed, also sidled up to me en route. His still au courant humor, slipping a coin into the outstretched hand of a manikin outside a Spring lighted clothing store, flew inside the human cabin of flight 179’s light.
Betimes, as light permitted, I checked my watch, stalwartly set and maintained by me on Delhi light (origin of my return journey) to contain the delicate Delhi light I still nurtured, yes, to find out how much light had passed and at what speed, there, here, everywhere.
Shy yet heartfelt, the softly, even coyly, drifting light of flight 179’s filled stewardess R’s fully, speedily lit visage while she pondered my reminiscence about the more intermittent light on the older stewards’ faces seen on my passage—not her’s-- just prior Delhi to London interlude.
Passengers heading east toward Doha en route to Delhi via Qatar airlines the previous week, was the more speedily motioned and conglomerated light you garnered merely imagined?
end of submission
Readers, please note the film title, Queen, is italicized but it doesn't come through in the edited version. Thank you.
Follow us on Twitter
Follow us on Instagram