Hang Gliding…

After working at Caudalie Crest I step outside to look up into the sky to see what is making the buzzing noise I could hear on the patio.

I spot a small engine powered hang glider,


drifting beneath the clouds, red against the blue.

I watch, craning my neck to follow its slow progression.

I wonder what it must feel like to glide in a harness hundreds of feet above the ground held aloft by a fabric airfoil buoyed up by the currents.

To soar like a hawk.

The freedom in my body as it is scooped up by the air to float effortlessly,

The wind tousling my hair, buffeting my ears.

The sensation of every move, the slightest dip, the subtlest turn, the lift of an arm, controlling the direction of my flight,

My nose and fingertips tingling from the unexpected cold.

The sense of awe as I look down on Weston’s fields, the lanes and roads neatly cutting the pastures into patchwork parcels.

Picking out cows and horses, familiar outhouses and barns,

Spotting tractors and harvesters and chickens scurrying after each other,

Noticing someone, like me, hand cupped over her eyes, gazing upwards…


Perhaps one of these days I’ll experience the surge of a hang-glider for myself.

And when I do it’ll be about as close as I’ll get to being a bird!


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2018-05-09 14:51:10 Reply

you’re my lovebird!

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