Close to a rattlesnake speedway in Mojave desert. Somewhere in the tranquility of lonesomeness. Where today is tomorrow and tomorrow is yesterday.
This clime of glumness is the final destination for proud airliners, the parched desert floor in the north-east of the Mojave Airport their resting place.
The airliners did their jobs for a long period of time and they did it very well. All of them tell stories. Stories about dreams, joy, love, tragedies, business, escape and arriving.
They supported us to explore the cities and landscapes around the world. Without these flying tin-boxes travelling would be quite onerous or even impossible. Many yearnings and wild dreams of travellers would be unfulfilled.
These flying-machines brought families together and helped lovers to find each other. They made the world appear smaller, enabled friendships across all boundaries. They thus made an important contribution to international understandings.
Most passengers enjoyed the flights, they were fascinated by the art of flying and the beauty of earth above the clouds. Flying is still fascinating.
Other passengers combined various passions and used the restrooms of these airliners as gateway into a small, secret and noble community: The legendary miles-high club.
All in all there must have been much fun on board of these planes.
There is a time for everything and the time of these aviation-dinosaurs has elapsed. Their bodies are scarred by nature’s unrelenting forces as well as thousands take-offs and landings. They are too thirsty for kerosine and much too loud for being part of the modern way of flying. So, their time has come to follow the path of all earthly things.
There is no reason to be sad because the most resources of the scrapped airlines will be recycled and reused. Like a kind of reincarnation. Think about this, once you open the next can of ice-cooled beer …