I was on a flight home to California from France, and somewhere over Nunavut in the very far north of Canada, I watched the sunrise. I reflected on how, on an airplane, we are removed from the external cues of day or night and the passage of time, and the hours become lost or found, depending on which direction one is travelling. We had left France in the morning but had flown west into the previous night, arriving in California in the late morning. By the time I reached home, I had been travelling for fifteen hours but had really only "lost" 4 hours of my calendar.