I never think to describe my dad as a passionate man; modest, dignified, supportive, quietly proud, determined, funny, but not passionate. Except for one area which consumes him entirely; flying. 

A cadet from the age of 13, he flew his whole life until retirement two years ago when debilitating, terminal illness took over. He could describe cloud types and their forecast, international flightpaths and schedules, and where to get a happy hour beer round-the-clock, in any major U.S. city.

Travelling to and from England recently to say good bye, I found myself transfixed by the skies, the clouds and the peaceful solitude they afford, a candy floss screen shutting off the world. He loved being up there, doing what he's always done best. 

(Photos taken on my turn-of-the-century iphone so a little bit rubbish.)