The sky was fading.
The Atlantic Ocean was churning.
And Iceland was the moon.
I looked out the window. I had never seen anything like it. I doubted many people had. Large craters sprinkled Iceland's face like old scars. Snow blanketed the terrain.
Every once and a while, light would shine from down below; proof people actually lived on the moon. The villages were tiny, and not just because I was 15,000 feet in the air. As we glided through the sky, there was too much to look at. Hot springs steamed. Mountain peaks sliced the air. Cars wound through towns.
Reykjavik came into view. We landed softly. We had hours and hours until our connecting flight to Seattle. We wandered through the airport. The sky was a purple haze.
We stood on the outskirts of the airport, breathing in the crisp air. It smelled like the sea and snow. We knew we didn't have long to be outside so we made the most of it. We were pulled in different directions. I wanted to look at the soft rolling hills. Sean wanted to look at the city lights.
I barely blinked, and it was time to go in. Dragging our feet, we walked back inside the airport. As I stood in line, I smiled. Our one month in Europe was up and we were going home. Despite the misadventures, and there were plenty, I was sad to leave.
If I didn't have 50 middle schoolers waiting for me, I might have just grabbed our bags, hopped in a taxi, and stayed on the moon.
What a work of beauty.
