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Flight 1945 to Salt Lake CityFlight 1945 leaving for Salt Lake from Reno. I eagerly aboard the plane. In antisapation I wait for take off. I watch out the window the ground, start to change slowly. The fields become less detailed, soon they turn into mere tiles, place perfectly on the earth. The streets soon turn into, pencil marks on a map, cars morphed into periods. The houses become monopoly pieces, They soon disapper. Flying into Salt Lake City, I see my mountains, they seem so small when I am above them. The leaves on the trees make the mountain seem, as though it were on fire. I am amazed at the beauty, that can be seen miles above the earth. The plane touches down and I can't wait, to write about the view from the plane. What a experience, what a thrill. Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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