To our east the greens and browns of the Florida landscape stretch off into the distance, terminating at the hazy blue horizon line. Or maybe it’s the sandy beaches of the Atlantic coast. From this distance it is hard to tell. More defined, the view to the west is of the aquamarine waters of the Gulf of Mexico laying beneath a scattered layer of puffy white clouds. 26,000 feet below us, an oil tanker works its way towards the entrance to Tampa Bay, kicking up a muddy wake that stretches back for miles across the blueish-green waters below.

Fifty miles back, the jetway we’ve just left in Sarasota is probably still basking in the pale Florida winter sun. The Charlotte we left to come down (and now are heading back to) was a frigid 30 degrees making the 55 degrees in Sarasota feel very pleasant. Despite our short turn time the Flight Attendants, my FO and I all managed to spend several minutes standing outside on the jetway steps enjoying the sunshine and relative warmth, laughing as we watched the rampers move around the airplane dressed in long pants and heavy winter coats.

And now the warmth is just a memory. As ATC clears us to a fix just to the east of Atlanta the latest Charlotte weather pops up on our flight computer. It’s warmed all the way up to 35 degrees now, which actually doesn’t sound bad when I compare it to the 20 degrees and snow we left behind in Dayton at 6am this morning. I let out a small sigh realizing that the “warmth” of Charlotte, like Sarasota, will be short lived as we will be heading back for Dayton almost as soon as we land and unload.

The plane wiggles its tail and turns inland on the new course. Out my window the waters of the Gulf fade into the distance and soon are just a memory to be rediscovered on my next trip down here. Until then I’ll just have to imagine that somewhere a warm jetway is sitting in the sun while nearby a tanker pushes its way through bright blue-green waters, its props kicking up a muddy path behind it.

Below us the James River is winding its way eastward between snow covered banks as it gently rolls downhill towards the Chesapeake Bay and eventually the Atlantic. Under its blanket of snow the Virginia landscape probably looks about the same as it did 400 years ago, just after the founding of Jamestown, near the mouth of the river. Despite the massive winter storm that has dumped almost three feet of snow on the Mid Atlantic countryside the river isn’t frozen over and its dark gray surface reflects the blue sky and clouds above as it twists and turns across the land.

We picked up the River at the southern edge of Virginia’s George Washington National Forest, just south of another former President’s home. Perched on the edge of a bluff, overlooking Charlottesville, Monticello, former home of Thomas Jefferson, commands an impressive view of the river valley. Passing over at 16,000 feet the main house is visible as a red smudge against the white hillside.

Heading east with the sun shining brightly across the white landscape we are descended to 10,000 feet. The river flattens and widens. Surface roads become visible with cars, like ants, moving along them. Most of the main roads look clear but many smaller roads still are covered in white. A cleared railroad line moves away in a straight line to the north. Later a Gate Agent will tell us that Richmond is the end of the line for both Amtrak and Greyhound heading north. The roads and tracks through the Capital and northward are still impassible. But down here the world is slowly shaking itself awake after the storm.

Potomac Approach clears us down to 3,000 feet and after asking us if we have the field in sight, clears us for a visual approach. It’s my leg so I pull back on the thrust levers and start to reach up to the autopilot control panel. It’s such a nice day that I decide to hand fly and instead disconnect the autopilot and remove the flight director from my screen. The airport is at our 11 o’clock, a bright white field of snow amongst the trees and buildings of urban Richmond. I visualize a curving path that straightens about two miles from the end of the runway. Once I have that in my mind I visualize a downward sloping path that follows my arc that gets us down to the ground at the end of the runway. I then throw speed into the mix and visualize how much power it will take to get there are at the speed I want, taking into account the addition of flaps and gear. It all comes together rather nicely and I allow myself to watch the scenery go by as the plane turns, descends and slows all at once.

The runway, thankfully clear of snow and ice, comes into view as we roll out on final. The wind is light and the ground, blanketed in snow is staying cool enough to limit any thermals. My FO reminds me that we are light (just the two of us and the Flight Attendant who is strapped into the cockpit jumpseat enjoying a view she normally doesn’t get) and I grunt in acknowledgment. Despite his reminder just seconds ago I somehow manage to over rotate the nose upward during the flare and it take a quick bit of jockeying with the thrust and the controls to settle the plane gently to the ground.

The plane decelerates quickly and before I even have time to pop the thrust reversers we are slowing through 100 knots. As we clear the runway tower advises us that the braking action on the ramp has been reported as “poor”. That would have been useful to know a few seconds earlier as we skid slightly as I turn on to the untreated ramp surface. I get the plane back under control and slowly, very slowly, start moving towards the gate.