Mainly clouds, and some Japanese.

I sit in the airport lounge in Edinburgh in the middle of a sprawling Japanese family. Children are climbing over seats and running along the edges of the windows. One particularly boisterous child has plasters covering all of his chin and a significant proportion of his face. A father and son are wearing matching, tartan and yet surprisingly fashionable, hats. I sit in silence observing and enjoying, occasionally sharing sympathetic looks with a parent. At some point those overseeing the children grow tired, iPad's emerge and eventually there is silence. But as we all know nothing lasts forever.

One minute two young boys are avidly watching Mickey Mouse then without a word of warning or any sort of provocation a full blown fight explodes into being. They each grab one end of the iPad. Screaming and crying they desperately try to rip it out of the other's grasp. An angry parent shouts to no apparent effect. She can barely be heard over the hysterical shrieks of the children. Then a gaggle of adults swoop in, pull them apart and as quickly as it began it is over. The smaller boy is sobbing into his mothers arms, inconsolable at the injustice of the world. The older, the one with the plasters, is once more engrossed in his show. He sits there in silence, content, as if nothing had happened. The younger pushes over a suitcase. I promptly set it to rights to a grateful thank you and a kindly smile from the boy's mother. I am reminded how much I would like to visit Japan.

I find myself on my plane which is a mere two hours late, enough to miss my flight to Singapore but not enough that my new plane will miss my proceeding flight to Melbourne. As the plane heads down the runway The Staves are playing in my ear and I hear them sing the words 'set in stone' and consider how my future is anything but. Then the plane takes off and the song 'Winter Trees' kicks in providing the perfect level of excitement and importance to the journey I am undertaking.

Out my window I see patchwork fields, beautiful and sprawling. There are earthy browns, vibrant greens and soft yellows, the colours of the earth. Then the world turns grey. I turn and look out the opposite window, there is a flash of brown then grey also and we are in the clouds. The grey turns to white, a bright, shining white and I feel as if we are floating through the ether. Bursts of cloud appear on the wings then vanish in an instant. I see a patch of brown appear from the top of my vision, where I thought to find sky, and realise that I am looking at the ground. I have no idea what direction is up, the plane could do anything in this fog and I would not know. I see the shadow of the fuselage on the wing and we move out of the clouds.
We graze over an endless plain of snowy mounds; that powdery snow that isn't good for anything but looking pretty. I see that we are sandwiched between two layers of cloud. In the far distance I can see a line of blue that is the sky. Below white hobbit mounds abound while above is a flat sheet. No, more like a thick duvet without its cover. We are trapped between the two in an endless icy cavern far above the ground. The world around is blue and white. It is clear and clean, vast and unknown. Paraphrasing the words of Kate Bush it is Ice and Dust and Light and Sky. And I am Here. Then we enter the second layer of cloud and there is grey once more. The view retreats from my sight and I think of the family and friends I am leaving back home. I know that some of them will be worrying about me right now and I appreciate it. I wish I could tell them they did not need to. The Staves sing my own thoughts back at me:

'Call me in the morning I'll be alright, call me in the morning I'll be alright. Call me little honey and I'll be fine. Call me in the morning I'll be okay, call me in the morning I'm far away.'

The steward from BA convinces me to have a beer. I put on Amanda Palmer and she sings of Astronauts. Not yet Amanda. But maybe one day. We sail below a thin veil of cloud. It seems so close I could touch it. An intricate silver lattice beyond which the world is blue. I wonder why we do not break into the freedom beyond. Is the pilot afraid to break through the shield above for fear of damaging its beauty, or for fear of what it is shielding us from? We glide languidly in this position for a while then descend once more to grey. We drop until barely ten minutes from London Heathrow and still all I see is grey. I assume the show is over.

Then I start to hear a roar in my ears, through my music. There is a faint vibration through the plane, growing steadily stronger. Outside the day grows dimmer. The clouds press in and suddenly I cannot see the wing before me. Without pushes against the window as if to break in and the plane shakes in protest. Then colours. The thick cloud changes with each passing second. A bright white that is almost blinding then a dark grey pregnant with omen. It turns purple then brown then black and Amanda screams in my ear. Then suddenly it is done. We break through and the world opens before us, trails of cloud streaming from our wing-tips.

I turn and behind us there is a great wall. It stretches far into the distance, from the ground up into the heights. A storm or a front I do not know. It is black and white, stretching its tendrils greedily across the land before it. Behind it the sun is setting, as if a fuel to its might. In the distance it curves forwards and all around there are great boulders and long rolling serpents, all glowing in the light of the evening. Left behind in its wake or boldly scouting before. I see tiny planes drifting through the sky, each heading in a different direction. They cross above and below and through the columns of cloud leaving their own little trails behind them. The colours of fire are in the sky. I am reminded of Star Wars. Of turmoil and battle in the air. More planes appear. They circle around the approaching airport like bees. Jealously guarding their precious treasures.

We become one of the bees; the plane turns and my view changes. All I see is the wing of the plane and a clear blue sky beyond. A single aeroplane trail languidly working its way across. Amanda now whispers along to a gentle piano and the world seems at peace. Drums kick in and the plane descends. As we land I think of all the friends I have in London. So many people that are so close that I won't see for so long. I feel sad, but it is a sweet sadness and I am glad for it.

I sit on my second plane, the plane, writing this. I realise that most of what I have written is inspired by music, perhaps I shall make that a theme. But perhaps not, I am not sure what I plan for this other than writing what I feel like writing when I am inspired to do so. I may not post again! Or there may be hundreds. Each post may be completely different from the last. Or I may continue on this vein. It might sit on the internet unread for all I know, perhaps I would even prefer that. I am listening to a Swedish band called First Aid Kit and they are swiftly becoming the soundtrack of my journey. They have a particularly uplifting song about travelling that seems to have provided me with a title (The Queen / King title one that is, not the Japanese, that would be freakishly appropriate). There will be more photo's later that is for sure. So far though I haven't exactly done anything to take photo's of. And I am trying to avoid my usual slew of selfies. At least for now.

I am not sure what to think or what to feel right now. Tired mainly, and as a result I am feeling unusually candid. Also happy, and without a doubt excited. But most of all I would say content, though that is a feeling I often get when writing. I will leave you with the song I am currently listening to, 'Wills Of The River'. It is four minutes and nineteen seconds of pure beauty. Although if you're feeling sad about my departure then this song is not likely to help. And if you are not feeling sad then you probably will be soon. But right now, as keeps happening today, it could not feel more relevant. It echoes what I feel right now. The sound is melancholy, but it is a song full of promise and full of hope. Of new beginnings and of uncertain futures.

And the wills of the river, leads you here.

Where the wind it is yielding, and the light it is clear.

To rest upon forever, or to live for one more day.

No I won't restrain the morning, I'll get ready for this spring.

Oh see them planets shining, to the south to the north.

Headed out the west wind, going to find myself a home.

Where the night it is guarded, by the shores of the sea.

And the moon it is resting, while the sun it breaks free.