mlle. h. bean

Two or three days ago (I can't remember which now since I've been sick, and also not keeping track of days) Einar and I were stacking two cords of wood for his landlords. It was hot, the sun was shining, we'd been at it for an hour or so already and sweat was coating our faces. We both held full loads of wood, heavy and scratching the skin of our arms. Up above us came the sound of an airplane, but then instead of continuing its steady drone across the sky, the tone dipped and dropped suddenly. I looked up just in time to see a silver smidgen twist and turn in the sky like a piece of aluminum foil on the end of a string. It came out of its loop and went straight for another few seconds, then did a full 180 degree turn on its side, before falling a second more and doing some more dances with gravity.

"I don't know what airport they come from, but it's somewhere close." Einar said, before continuing the job. I watched it a few seconds more. And they've been round practically every day since, I can hear them from inside the house, like fighter pilots must sound over the heads of Afghanis.