“Flying again. The things I had forgotten—things going under that still suspended wheel. How slow the cars. The pattern of houses doubled with their shadows, boxlike houses. How still the water—a boat cutting the water like shears—the heavy satin rippling back, falling away on either side. Frozen waterfalls. Woven cloth fields, rows, stripes, checks, cavalry twill, corduroy, tweed, homespun. Suddenly an arrow and a circle on a field—an air sign. The excitement of a secret language. That huge orange arrow meant nothing to the people down there—only to me. It spoke to me: ‘Airport this way,’ and I understood, and felt like God.”

—description of flying from Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s diary entry dated Thursday, March 30, 1933, in Locked Rooms and Open Doors: Diaries and Letters of Anne Morrow Lindbergh 1933–1935 (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1974), 24.