Lights reflecting back from low hanging clouds from miles and miles out -- Denver that brighter one, the airport smaller, off to the left, more yellow than purple, the moon higher to the right, whiter through the clouds.

Planes converging and lining up at regular intervals for final approach, dipping below the clouds as their forward lights pierce the scattered tendrils hanging from the cloud bottoms, gliding like so many shells flung into a pond, over and over, touching down on the very same spot, again and again; passengers stowing carry-on luggage, returning seatbacks and trays to their stowed and upright position, turning off electronic gear, tensing, eager to end the flight, catch a connecting flight, go home, get to work, start a vacation, spreading through Denver like so many waves on the surface of the water.