The Flight

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Jun 21, 2018 19:28
It was a business trip. In the night of the end of October, we arrived to Astana by the train. Out of here, we would move on by plane. Now we would cross the city to Astana Airport. Fortunately, there is not much traffic on the roads at five in the morning. We reached Airport in 40 minutes. Not all parts of new Airport were finished (Astana was preparing to host the EXPO in the next year). Our flight departure at six, we had to wait a little. I was looking airstrips, passenger-boarding bridges and terminals through the windows and was walking on the waiting room. They said it was time for us to board. We went to the plain by a bus, not a bridge. It had snowed when we arrived to Astana, while the plane was been prepared for takeoff, it was blizzard. It was an apocalyptic spectacle (not much Imagination). The plane, bathed some green liquid, came around to the runway, exerted itself, jumped forward, and, shaking, started pick up speed. The snow merged in sheets, the lights of Airport was left behind, we were up and the land and any orienteers disappeared in a moment. When we burst out of the clouds, almost even sea of milk spread out under the plane. Then, if as somebody turn on a switch, starlet light illuminate the wings – the sun appeared behind us. Sometimes, the end of the wings was shaking, as if our Embraer 190 was trying to fly by fluttering the wings. After an hour, the land stripped naked down. Steppe, hills, little rivers and lakes, storage ponds were under the sun. Landing would be soon.
When, two days later, we flew to Astana, I saw another sight. Under an overcast sky were stubble, stamped by harvester hither and thither, yellow grass, stripes of tree on edges of fields, roads. All this, powdered by the snow, presented a sophisticated amusing ornament of grating semicircles and rectangle crossed by straight and curved lines. It was like a huge avant-garde picture in tints of whit, brown and yellow.