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.

 

 

Photo by Asher Isbrucker

Latest posts by Kyle Mellen (see all)