Sitting in the back seat of a UH-60 Blackhawk at night is like looking at the surface of a darkened moon with all the chasms of craters and miles of dead silent landscape. Could there be life? We are sure there is not, but in the darkness we always wonder what is out there?
In the 60 I sit back letting the tiny pushes of breeze slip across my face. I look out the window and through the grey film of night here. I know there are houses, rivers, a lake out there, but to my eyes, without the help of night vision goggles I could be at the bottom of the ocean or in the outer reaches of space.
I haven't flown in a few weeks and I was accused of only wanting to fly for a joyride. I can't say that there isn't a thrill. There are not many moments here where the whole world washes away and all you can think is about the sky and the swift and high freedom. For a half an hour I don't think about mistakes I've made or family or beer or grammar, or word-counts and leads or anything, just sky, sky, breeze, land, dark, dark, darkness.
Everyday is the same here and out in the helicopter, the very newness cascades over me like a shower after a week's worth of dirt has built up on your skin.
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