737 (prose)

Every night there’s a plane that flies over my place on its way to the airport to land.

By all facts and numbers, it’s a Westjet plane, a 737, from the east.

In my head though, the familiar roar of the 737’s engines is something else.

Future time travellers doing a cruising tour of 2019, soaring far above, their true identities unbeknownst to us now.

Whispers of curiosity and wonder briefly flashing by between the clouds.

A future me, another me, maybe, checking up on this timeline, just to see where I’m at now;

Waving down from above with a wistful expression as I stare back up – so close in distance but so impossibly far in time.

I wonder about the future.

Occasionally, I believe it wonders back.

Each night, a flash of possibility.

Of a promised future, unimaginable realities curling around each other for a few minutes a night.