The air above me rumbles softly, but it doesn’t sound in a way that would spur most into thinking of thunderstorms, the quiet rustle of wind, or a car’s engine. No, this is an entirely different sound, a sound entirely more beautiful in my opinion.
I slowly open my eyes to slits against the bright light filtering in through the overhanging leaves. A shadow high above the trees slowly dots its way between the gaps in the shifting canopy. I open my eyes fully, intrigued now, and pull myself into a sitting position; I crane my neck around the canopy of the tree and throw my hands to the sky to block the sun. I squint, jutting my head forward as if it will help me see that far up.
“Q400,” I mumble. “Bombardier.”
I flop back to the ground, throwing my arms over my face. I like those planes, though they weren’t much to look at. Sure, the propellers are kind of pretty and are fun to watch if you are seated next to the wings, but the small plane itself isn’t anything to get terribly excited about if you ask me—not like those other beauties that are out on the sky.
Another rumble catches my ears, and I peak through my arms at the newcomer. From what I can see, it has jet engines, four of them, dual-mounted, two on each wing. It’s long, the body is fairly thin, and the wingspan looks almost as long as the body. I can instantly tell that it’s a 747, one of the most common and popular passenger airliners. I watch it pass as it crosses previous contrails, distorting the thick clouds of vapor while carving its own white path above the treetops. Even after I’ve craned my neck into an uncomfortable crick, it soon disappears from my view, and I settle back down into the grass.
I sigh, puffing at a thin lock of hair until it decides to float out of my face. They call the 747 the “Queen of the Sky”. I scoff quietly to myself. The 747 might be able to rival many other planes, Triple Sevens, the new Dreamliners, the Flying Fortresses, even the Spruce Gooses, but there’s one plane that, in my mind, it could never surpass: the C-17 Globemaster III’s. My lips tug upward at the corners involuntarily. Those are the true and most gorgeous Kings of the Skies. I dream of one day flying a beauty like that.