A Glory.

Flying home, I saw a halo following us, skittering across the cloud layer. Not a glitch in the glass or my perception, at times our plane’s shadow was in the centre.

When the sun’s light passes around an object casting a shadow into cloud of a very specific – and unusually uniform - water droplets, a glory forms.

I want it to be a metaphor or omen, but am too dazzled to twist fleet-fog colours into dull meaning.