Good morning Paris

Deep blue haze mottles a dark sky
Competes with fluorescent reflections
Harsh and glaring against my window

No more than a blink
A furtive glance at the steward
A survey of the cabin
And the sky explodes
Palest blue turns to
Peach melba turns to
Blood red boiling on the horizon

Reflections of this fiery rainbow
On the smooth frozen edge of a plane’s wing
Voluminous ashy clouds hide
Villages
Towns
Cities on the edge of sleep and morning
Angry orange light punches through dense haze to compliment the sky
Greet her, complete her

Bonne journée Paris, you are melon haze, you are sleepy eyes, and African limbo