vanishing point

In traffic on the bridge, for an instant, my brain misperceives the perspective, and a passing plane seems to be flying upward at an angle impossibly steep for a commercial passenger jet, engine-stallingly, suicidally vertical. I lean forward and gasp, expecting any moment the fuselage to bloom firey orange. Just then the illusion corrects itself like the drawing of the concave cube lit from below becoming a convex cube lit from above. Above, the plane continues its course, the passengers not even feeling the bump of turbulence.