Soon the impossible, the
fantastic seems normal:
you're thousands of feet (or
meters) in the air, up in the
sky, floating along in the
warm, bright early morning
sun.
Your airship casts a
symmetrical shadow on
the sensually sculptured stone
of the Cappadocian landscape.
The world below you is laid
out like a map—only
far, far better.
There's no sound of
wind because you're
moving with the wind. It's
quiet—just quiet conversation,
the snap of camera shutters,
and an occasional roar from
the gas burners, which just
makes the quiet more intense
when it stops.
