Contrails of memories from the plane of life
The majestic green of the forested hills, the dull blue of the sea that stretched to the horizon, and the glowing white-red palettes of short buildings basked in the setting sun. Such was the eye candy of the suburbs of western Izmir. Even then, the white cotton fluffs above me captured the two windows to my heart, floating gently amongst the sea of the sky, an expanse of greyish blue as its earthly counterpart. No matter how beautifully the earth was created, I've always enjoyed looking up at the heavens, which softly remind my soul of the vast possibilities in life. Then, it appeared. A mere speck from here, a plane flying just above the cloud level. And what intrigued me were its contrails- those little lines of clouds didn't paint the sky for long like I'd often seen. Rather, like the trail of light from a moving sparkler firework, the contrails vanished not far behind the plane. Recently a long-time friend talked to me about a shared memory fro