To fly is to enter a rare solitude. In the cockpit, even with passengers behind you, you are alone as the Earth fades away. The engine hums, the horizon stretches endlessly, and the silence feels alive.

This solitude is both revealing and dangerous. Every flicker of light and shift in the air matters, and you are acutely aware of your own fragility. Yet from above, the world transforms – mountains flatten, rivers shine, and urban areas look like toy sets.

In the sky, your perspective shifts, showing both our limits and the potential to rise above them. It transforms into a sort of meditation: a reminder of our smallness while touching something vast.

Like art, flying demands courage and solitude. Both elevate us, while keeping us grounded, both risk failure. Yet, the act of flying or creating is hopeful, proving that we strive for the infinite despite our limitations.