You sit on a plane at thirty thousand feet, seemingly suspended motionless over a field of cotton candy clouds, that stretch to the blue horizon. You examine the engine just outside your window, and you can't make out any movement there at all. The sun is shining brightly and it looks warm enough to the eye. But you press your skin to the window and it's definitely cool to the touch. You can almost imagine climbing out the window and riding legs astraddle on the engine. But you know that the "wind" would knock you right off, and you know that your fall would not end on the cushiony cotton candy, but would instead continue straight through that foggy gauze to the hard ground further below.
And so you decide
From climbing outside