The last light of dusk filters through cloudscape.
Through an airplane window, you witness undulations of snow-bearing stratus pass beneath you.
All you can hear is the low rumble of engines, whirring below the thick pressure against the back of your eardrums.
You allow your consciousness to dwell there, unable to think of anything.
The evanescent light manifests the substance of the mist.
A ping emerges from the mass of sound, announcing the need to fasten the restraints.
Passenger whispers dissolve into wordless murmurs.
We are expecting turbulence.
You can see the wings oscillating, announcing violence.
If you could witness the disturbance, you would see the fractal eddies of cascading energy.
This is the chaos that shakes the vehicle.
The chaos becomes sound.
Each infinitesimal whirlpool ripples through the plane’s substance, the micro-scalar vibrations summing in a roar.
You may not be in any danger, but the idea passes through your consciousness.
As it dissipates, the tranquillity of the threshold between thoughts returns.
The rumbling stills.
Outside the cloudscape overtakes your window.
Your ears open, revealing the full depth of the audio field.
The light-forsaken substance fades into colorless twilight.
The idea of a destination returns, then disperses.
Below, the human project continues.
In a space between worlds, you can become the timeless observer.
The ideal, characterless audience of becoming.
What is the sound you hear?
The process of a vast machine unfolding in infinite space.
The grinding of celestial gears.