Picture this (but do it without a photo in front of you): the plane takes off, leaving a field of sparkling city lights behind. The champagne rolls down the aisle, then the food trays with wine from the Pays d'Oc. The movie selection is large and Ed loses himself behind his screen. He wont emerge until the breakfast trays are put before us. He's comfortable. We have finally managed to get the precious to him bulkhead and exit row seats. His legs stretch out so far that the attendant has to ask him to pull back a little. She needs to sit down for take off and landing just about where his toes touch the wall.
And this: the clouds are misty, diffuse. The land below is patched with brown and green fields. The tall trees along the roads are skinny and bare. Their shadows fall in even rows -- visible now, in spite of the hazy morning air.
We land. We pause at the airport to shower and eat good breads and drink rich coffee, with a wallop of milk. Oh, and melon juice at the side.
That's my last handful of hours. Nothing more, nothing less.