I want to believe we're built for soaring in our thoughts, and out here on the
edge, in California, at night, in that fading wakefulness before sleep erases sight, my mind projects that sketch of Leonardo's, and then, before I realize it, I'm flying in, flying to America, making landfall on this continent, not from
over the Pacific, not from Singapore or Australia, Fiji or Hawaii on routes I've flown in
real airplanes, but I dream I'm coming in across the
other ocean,
over the Atlantic, like Columbus.