Moments of perfection come to us in many ways. A cold snowy night with nothing to do but sit next to the wood stove can be very pleasant. Early morning walks through a woods filled with songbirds or a quiet afternoon by the water also work well. A sure shot for perfection though is a cool, clear, and calm summer evening.
The first puffs of evening's cool air drift through the open windows of the houses of town, carrying the sounds of kids playing, or the smells of backyard barbecues. Just like the kids, grown- ups seem to cluster together and hang out too. They gather on porches or yards, at the town ball diamond or park, down by the water, or if they are lucky, the airport.
About a week ago, after the rains stopped but before it got so hot, there was an absolutely perfect evening. Chance had it that I needed to stop at the hilltop field where I keep my airplane, on the way to work. As I crested the hill, I was delighted at see that "everybody" was there and that everything with wings was flying, had just flown, or was just about to fly. People had showed up with wives and friends as well, and there were several folks sitting in lawn chairs admiring the evening, drinking soda pop, and just chatting.
By a nearly unanimous vote across all the hills and hollows, time was standing still and people were relaxing on this evening. In a very real sense, it was an impromptu thanksgiving, more meaningful perhaps than the carefully planned and marketed holiday in November. I felt I was in a unique position to observe and take notes, because I was on the outside looking in; All those folks would be going home soon, and I was on my way to work.
When I got to work, I found lots of company. The customer's crew was busy sorting and loading packages, but there was easy laughter as the work flowed smoothly on schedule. In flight, the voices on the local air traffic control frequencies were exceptionally relaxed and friendly, with "hello"s and "good- bye"s given more freely and with more sincerity as well. It seemed nobody was letting anything get in the way of a perfect evening.
I felt pretty good, glad to be able to play with airplanes much as my grandfather did, and glad to work with airplanes in a way that he would probably have admired. I glanced over at the GPS and happened to note that it estimated my arrival at Syracuse in 14 minutes. Suddenly I realized that in four years I have never looked to see "how much longer until this flight is over?"
I watched a round red sun set in an empty sky as I mused along in the airplane. There was just enough haze to color the sun and light up a strip along the northwest horizon, just enough color to make a pretty picture as a souvenir of this thanksgiving evening.