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apsed that had been holding up your ship in the air。 It is the only time when a pilot feels that there is a gulf beneath his ship。
Another thing bothered me。 I could see on a level with the mountain peaks not a haze； not a mist； not a sandy fog； but a sort of ash…colored streamer in the sky。 I did not like the look of that scarf of filings scraped off the surface of the earth and borne out to sea by the wind。 I tightened my leather harness as far as it would go and I steered the ship with one hand while with the other I hung on to the longeron that ran along…side my seat。 I was still flying in remarkably calm air。
Very soon came a slight tremor。 As every pilot knows； there are secret little quiverings that fore…tell your real storm。 No rolling； no pitching。 No swing to speak of。 The flight continues horizontal and rectilinear。 But you have felt a warning drum on the wings of your plane； little intermittent rappings scarcely audible and infinitely brief； little cracklings from time to time as if there were traces of gunpowder in the air。
And then everything round me blew up。
Concerning the next couple of minutes I have nothing to say。 All that I can find in my memory is a few rudimentary notions； fragments of thoughts； direct observations。 I cannot pose them into a dramatic recital because there was no drama。 The best I can do is to line them up in a kind of chronological order。
In the first place； I was standing still。 Having banked right in order to correct a sudden drift； I saw the landscape freeze abruptly where it was and remain jiggling on the same spot。 I was making no headway。 My wings had ceased to nibble into the outline of the earth。 I could see the earth buckle； pivot…but it stayed put。 The plane was skidding as if on a toothless cogwheel。
Meanwhile I had the absurd feeling that I had exposed myself pletely to the enemy。 All those peaks； those crests； those teeth that were cutting into the wind and unleashing its gusts in my direction； seemed to me so many guns pointed straight at my defenseless person。 I was slow to think； but the thought did e to me that I ought to give up altitude and make for one of the neighboring valleys where I might take shelter against a mountainside。 As a matter of fact； whether I liked it or not I was being helplessly sucked down towards the earth。 Title： Wind； Sand； and Stars
Author： Antoine de Saint…Exupery
Translator： Lewis Galantiere
Publisher： Harcourt Brace Javanovich； New York； 1967
Date first posted： February 2000
Date most recently updated： January 2006
XML markup by Wesman 02/23/2000。
Wind Sand and Stars
Antoine de Saint…Exupery
5
The Plane and the Planet
The airplane has unveiled for us the true face of the earth。 For centuries； highways had been deceiving us。 We were like that queen who determined to move among her subjects so that she might learn for herself whether or not they rejoiced in her reign。 Her courtiers took advantage of her innocence to garland the road she traveled and set dancers in her path。 Led forward on their halter； she saw nothing of her kingdom and could not know that over the countryside the famished were cursing her。
Even so have we been making our way along the winding roads。 Roads avoid the barren lands； the rocks； the sands。 They shape themselves to man's needs and run from stream to stream。 They lead the farmer from his barns to his wheat…fields； receive at the thresholds of stables the sleepy cattle and pour them forth at dawn into meadows of alfalfa。 They join village to village； for between villages marriages are made。
And even when a road hazards its way over the desert； you will see it make a thousand detours to take its pleasure at the oases。 Thus； led astray by the divagations of roads； as by other indulgent fictions； having in the course of our travels skirted so many well…watered lands； so many orchards； so many meadows； we have from the beginning of time embellished the picture of our prison。 We have elected to believe that our planet was merciful and fruitful。
But a cruel light has blazed； and our sight has been sharpened。 The plane has taught us to travel as the crow flies。 Scarcely have we taken off when we abandon these winding highways that slope down to watering troughs and stables or run away to towns dreaming in the shade of their trees。 Freed henceforth from this happy servitude； delivered from the need of fountains； we set our course for distant destinations。 And then； only； from the height of our rectilinear trajectories； do we discover the essential foundation； the fundament of rock and sand and salt in which here and there and from time to time life like a little moss in the crevices of ruins has risked its precarious existence。
We to whom humble journeyings were once permitted have now been transformed into physicists； biologists； students of the civilizations that beautify the depths of valleys and now and again； by some miracle； bloom like gardens where the climate allows。 We are able to judge man in cosmic terms； scrutinize him through our portholes as through instruments of the laboratory。 I remember a few of these scenes。
I
The pilot flying towards the Straits of Magellan sees below him； a little to the south of the Gallegos River； an ancient lava flow； an erupted waste of a thickness of sixty feet that crushes down the plain on which it has congealed。 Farther south he meets a second flow； then a third； and thereafter every hump on the globe； every mound a few hundred feet high； carries a crater in its flank。 No Vesuvius rises up to reign in the clouds； merely； flat on the plain； a succession of gaping howitzer mouths。
This day； as I fly； the lava world is calm。 There is something surprising in the tranquility of this deserted landscape where once a thousand volcanoes boomed to each other in their great subterranean organs and spat forth their fire。 I fly over a world mute and abandoned； strewn with black glaciers。
South of these glaciers there are yet older volcanoes veiled with the passing of time in a golden sward。 Here and there a tree rises out of a crevice like a plant out of a cracked pot。 In the soft and yellow light the plain appears as luxuriant as a garden； the short grass seems to civilize it； and round its giant throats there is scarcely a swelling to be seen。 A hare scampers off； a bird wheels in the air； life has taken possession of a new planet where the decent loam of our earth has at last spread over the surface of the star。
Finally； crossing the line into Chile； a little north of Punta Arenas； you e to the last of the craters； and here the mouths have been stopped with earth。 A silky turf lies snug over the curves of the volcanoes； and all is suavity in the scene。 Each fissure in the crust is sutured up by this tender flax。 The earth is smooth； the slopes are gentle； one forgets the travail that gave them birth。 This turf effaces from the flanks of the hillocks the sombre sign of their origin。
We have reached the most southerly habitation of the world； a town born of the chance presence of a little mud between the timeless lava and the austral ice。 So