It took my breath away. Bush planes are different. They're like flying beside the wind, not on it. They don't use the air, they flow with the air. And as we flew with the wind over a small section of tundra hills I glanced outside to see the sparkling snowflakes whisking by as they sparkled in the sun like the painting of a fairytale. So few people would ever get the chance to see such a thing. The sun has to be setting at just the right angle to allow your eyes to catch the sparkle from the window of a plane. The plane has to be flying at just the right speed so that the snowflakes move, but aren't a blur. The snow must be falling, but the clouds that produce the snow can't be blocking the sun. And I realized that. I realized how rare this opportunity was and I soaked it in like water to dried roots. I sat there with my frozen cheeks pressed to the scratched window pane. Taking in the last few moments of a warming Alaskan winter. The ground is still covered in snow. But such a light heavy snowfall is unlikely to happen again, especially not while I'm in flight. So I loved it, like the beating heart of a newborn child. I don't want to let go of the image. It's too pretty to let drift away into memory.
