I live at a cross road. Morning skies are always interesting. Count ‘em. Too numerous to count. I’m in the middle of tbings, but not really. I liken it to living on a golf course and not playing a single round. I’m ok with it. I don’t mind not having to battle TSA and crowded planes and baggage claim and… Sure, I’ll fly again. Meanwhile, I enjoy the myriad of jet trails that cross my skies. Of course, as a kid (8 or so) I used to run from under planes passing overhead with the belief that I did not want to be there if someone overhead flushed the toilet.
I used to live at the crossroads of the world. Now I am at another crossroad. It seems that air traffic out of Reagan and Dulles and BWI and Phi all cross Delaware. The clouds move fast. They change like the weather. Wait a minute or so it will look different. Every once in a while, the jet trails cross over in a great pattern. Everyone is headed somewhere. There’s an app that lets you point your phone at the trail and it will tell you the flight and destination of the plane that made it. TMI, I just like the pattern. Simple.