25 Aug

Flying is not magic. It’s trust. A deep breath in, out, in. And up. Stomach dropping like being on a roller coaster, excitement, terror, power. I have done this many times. Remembering stops the fall.

Trust is fact, there is no other certainty.

I was flying over broccoli treetops, arms stretched body parallel to the ground. I flew through an open barn around wooden rafters, in one end back out the other, back into the sky, the world an ant farm, a topographical map, the big picture all one thing. Flying is the fact of perspective, not disengaged just stepping back for breath, stepping out for air, stepping to the side to let someone else through. To make space.


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