I am hurtling through tight pressed air,
524 miles per hour, 33,000 feet;
all recycled oxygen and stiff limbs,
with miles below and miles above.
These are miles that think;
miles that raise questions
leave the answers floating
like clouds; peaceful, turbulent.
I know the boy next to me,
deep thoughts muddled and made murky
in the midst of the changes;  
and I hear the kid behind me,
screams of laughter
or maybe terror, I can’t tell which;
and I see the girl across the aisle,
flinching with every turbulent cloud;
and I wonder if we are all in the same boat,
or plane, if you will.
My clouds are much the same,
murky and turbulent
thinking about where I have been
where I am going,
returning only to leave again,
this time unfamiliar, unwanted, not understood.
But I am now winged with new friendships
ready to test time,
and a strong prayer for faithfulness
to outlast all.
I am not ready for what lies ahead,
but I have come to find
that I often never am,
and never will be.
I am one for whom
peace is not easily found,
thus instead I am practicing patience;
and I have begun to say shalom.