Horizons

Atlas Mountains, Morocco
June 2019

The sun set through a closed curtain, bleeding diagonal light down the Atlas Mountain peaks. I felt cheated. After all, these vertical towers were not my customary. Mary was right - we are drawn to our familiar. I wish I could have drawn the blinds and let it all in. I had my tripod perched high above the mosques and villages. A young Moroccan boy approaches me, speaking in French then Arabic. I did not understand a word of either. Hand gestures danced in the open space between us. He pointed to his notebook and tore a page from it - old homework. I followed his lead. With a crease and fold, he held a paper airplane between his fingers and called on the wind. When he let go, the slight breeze caught his plane but plummeted to the ground. He ran down the side of the hill to retrieve his craft, smoothing out the zigzagged tip from the collision. Attempt after attempt - his potential always fell short. As the curtain began to close, the boy threw it one last time. The young pilot flew high enough to see it - my horizontal sunset.