Notes from a flight home

Watching “Lost” while travelling by plane is slightly perverse.

Passing over southern Scotland, smooth, frozen, snow-covered lochs look like sections left behind after hilltops have been sliced off.

The further south we fly, the more green the snow looks.

The fields of the southernmost English counties look silvery grey with a frosted dusting of snow.

As we pass over the Channel, grey skies, far below, shield us from view. 20 miles away, a white speck begins its descent to London and a gap in the clouds welcomes us over a white French coast.

There is no snow in Paris, but it is white anyway when viewed from above.

A beautiful winter day in the Burgundy region of France.

The landscape turns whiter again as it rises to meet Switzerland’s northern borders.

The Alps appear like white islands in a white sea of cloud. (Hardly original but true, nonetheless.)