Air Force One

Air Force One passed over my head so many times today you'd think I had it on a string. I was shooting expired film, walking around Highspire (little riparian town named for a church spire boatmen--bargemen?--could spy) and apparently the highly-beefed, big ol' jet airliner was doing practice runs at HIA (Harrisburg International Airport). I googled just now and learned it was doing those there as early as 2010. I bet it flew over Three Mile Island more than once. Not surprisingly, its flight pattern favored the Susquehanna River.  I didn't really have an appreciable zoom. But maybe it's best I didn't. That plane probably knows if you're looking at it too closely. And then I'd hate to get vaporized where I stood just for an aesthetic appreciation of a form. It was sort of sweet to see. There was some apophenia. It felt as though I were watching a high school instrumentalist oh-so-earnestly practicing a piece soon to debut in the school's spring program. It felt very kidlike, Air Force One. I felt the innocent desire to please in that plane. It's a slightly awkward youth pretending (hoping) it's graceful. It wants to be deemed stalwart. It is hoping you believe it's these things. If only we could ask it for its autograph, we would make its year. It would sleep well that night.