The land was sherbet orange as the plane motored overhead, dipping and diving as it passed over the cascading peaks of the Olympic Range. The twin propeller engines hummed in the evening still, filling the coming twilight with their unique song. The Brothers glowed lavender in the setting sun; the powder on their crests was as tangerine as the sky.
The plane twitched up and down over the cool Pacific air, feeling its way through the sunset. It bounced its way over the 5, over cars that decorated the darkening land like tiny strings of Christmas lights. Up and down, with the ebb and flow of the wind, the plane went.
The turbo-prop suddenly began climbing upward, upward, its humble little engines churning and groaning as it climbed. As it reached a peak in the sky, the plane dipped down, turning belly up into the sun. The cargo doors of the plane reflected in the ebbing light as the plane inverted, still pitching downward.
As quickly as it flipped over, it began to right itself. It sped closer and closer toward the beckoning waters of the Puget Sound and its golden grey waves. It teased the water-- stopping its descent only a few hundred feet above its surface—then began to climb up, up, up once more.
The plane gleamed in the dying sunlight, engines still humming in the silent twilight. It flew westward, toward the last glimmers of the sun until it all but disappeared in the creamsicle Seattle sky.
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