In the evening I sit out on the back porch watching the lit up flight pattern of the planes coming in for landing. They come right at me like a surging highway. I wear my binoculars. Sometimes I even make signs. WELCOME TO EARTH, said one of these signs. I mowed it into the grass with forty-foot letters.
I can do whatever I want with the field.
And as the lights pass over me and my house I see the planes blink in acknowledgment. The windows flash with heads and hands. You, way up there, you know me and understand.