Flying machines.

I fly a lot. I've been working in remote northern locations in Canada on and off for nearly a decade, these days more on than off. This has often meant that to get to where I need to go planes are involved. Float planes, regular planes, smaller planes, bigger planes, planes in seemingly various states of disrepair. I've also found myself in the last few years flying for school, for internships, for visits, to various places around the planet. 

While I'm not in the air as often as some folks, I do make at least two or three flights month. It's easy as a tall guy to complain about hard angles and the cramped seat room that causes those angles to leave dents in my knees and kinks in my neck. Pair that with the asinine way in which airports are run and it's easy to forget how truly incredible it is to leap off the ground in a flying machine and coast five or six miles above the Earth to wherever it is you're headed next.

Somehow human flight has become normal. 

And so every now and then, particularly on beautiful flights where the clouds and the light are just right, I like to make a point of appreciating the fact that I am in the sky. Because that shouldn't really get old.

Somewhere between Thunder Bay and Toronto.