Cruising comfortably at 36,000 feet, the wind beneath my wings and the bright moon illuminating the clouds ahead. A properly masculine amount of kerosene burnt through our four massive turbofan engines every second and a fresh brew of coffee in the galley just behind our flightdeck—life is good.

Two pilots, far and a long time from home. An array of instruments providing reliable information on our speed, altitude, and the most intimate details of our engines and aircraft systems. Everything is under control in a cockpit enveloped in an atmosphere of planned, quiet and professional stoicism. All the while, we're traversing half of our planet, spanning continents and oceans in less than a pilot's legal working-day.

Two completely isolated universes glide by from our perspective.
Below; the cities, glaciers, oceans, and deserts are decorative backdrops beyond our windows, with an endless expanse of stars and galaxies above. As stable and reliable as ever.

-

A vigilant observer on the ground might spot a silver-grey contrail in the night sky once in a while, far above in the bitter cold of the stratosphere. Perhaps they might even catch a fleeting glimpse of our contrail and distinctive fuselage as we pass the bright face of a new moon at just the right moment.
And just like that, I'm reminded again of that beautiful song that inspired me to fly from a young age: Walking in the Air, from the animated film 'The Snowman';

'Walking in the Air' – The Snowman / Aled Jones
We're walking in the air
We're floating in the moonlit sky
The people far below are sleeping as we fly
I'm holding very tight
I'm riding in the midnight blue
I'm finding I can fly so high above with you
Far across the world
The villages go by like dreams
The rivers and the hills, the forests and the streams
…
And walking in the air
We're dancing in the midnight sky
And everyone who sees us greets us as we fly