I wake up, drowsy and uncomfortable, looking out the aircraft window.
Dawn is a pink line hugging the north horizon. Flying east, the night
is short.

I squirm in my seat and take in the sky. Pink to orange to blue to
black. Dawn is a line hugging the horizon.

And right above it, those seven stars that make up the only
constellation I can identify: Karlavagnen.

In America it's know as the Big Dipper, a ladle, a spoon for sauce. I
prefer the Swedish Karlavagnen, "The Men's Wagon".

As the aircraft races towards dawn, the Chariot of Masculinity slowly
fades into the light blue sky. My blurry eyes take it all in, my mind
remembering how the heavens have followed me on every journey; the
thin crescent moon in Syria; the Milky Way across the Sahara.

Then, just as I'm about to go back to sleep, a meteor streaks
across the sky. A second and it's gone. Dawn hugs the horizon.

I make a wish.