I spent a great deal of time staring up at the sky. It was a lovely way to pass the hours. There was something about passing planes that sort of mystified me; it was their mystery that enveloped me and roped me in relentlessly. Who was flying? Where were they coming from, and where were they going? When I’ve flown, I’ve always looked down upon the houses, the buildings, the little towns, and wondered who was there…what their lives were like, what they did, and if they were looking up at me, wondering who I was and where I was heading. So when I look up, there’s that inherent desire to travel with them, the lofty anticipation of having a destination, and the inevitable excitement and adventure that seems to accompany it. It’s the excitement that was the allure there…it broke the monotony of the computer screen and scattered it to bits. Planes represented excitement…and tugged my mind away from the off key melody of keyboard clicks. And as a professional dreamer, it was just what the doctor ordered.