The fly-over states
I flew from Harrisburg to San Francisco, California, today, the first time I have made this trip in several years. I marveled, as I always do, at what I see of America from 40,000 feet when the weather is good and there are no clouds.
I love the different terrain that passes by underneath, from the farms and forests of the East, to the rivers of the Midwest and the lines drawn by man in the 19th century to delineate this huge territory. Perfect squares sometimes that are visible, like the Nazca lines in Peru, only from the air. Unknown towns pass by, and I long for the ability to touch the window and have the name appear, as if it had been tagged in a photo on Facebook.
Moving west, the roads grow fewer in number and begin to wind crazily around natural landforms. Then comes Nevada and its vast arrid deserts marked by deep canyons and arroyos that appear from the sky to never have been trod by man. For miles and miles there is no sign of human habitation and no water or vegetation, either.
The Sierras were fogged in as we crossed into California, a pity, because on one past trip I saw Half Dome in Yosemite National Park far below. The fog gave way to the farms of the Central Valley and finally, approaching San Francisco, to those vast red and yellow blotches, hemmed in by barriers, that no one has ever been able to explain to me.
Finally we were down and there was the sign: Mayor Gavin Newsome welcomes you to San Francisco. I found my sister, got our rental car, and drove us to Half Moon Bay. We are here for our cousin Barb's wedding, but in the meanwhile have some sightseeing to do.