Aloft, Aloft, Aloft
Aloft on vents of frigid air, scanning skies with freshened eyes, thinking near and far—simultaneous presence.
Dodging frozen, floating crystalline motes (virtually and literally), hopping from gust to breeze, to see as far as 0s and 1s will qualify.
Fly with me, to the moon and snow and ionosphere... and beyond.
Bob Montgomery