Flight Lesson – 10

Why do I always want to fly when it rains? The corn is waving, the wheat is calling.  Bending, bowing, beckoning me. I want to fly away and the rain is everywhere.  Let me run, wide open.  Let me run across the fields, around the lake.   Let me burn hours off this rain soaked day and this oil soaked engine.  Let me ignite.  Let me explode.  Let me run until the wind in my hair implodes.  Until I can’t breathe and I just float.  Absorbed in the air rushing into my face as I disappear out the doors of this state.  What is it about flying long distance?  What is it about this wanderlust that calls me around each corner, across each horizon?  I’m not an air racer or a record chaser.  Every hour I’ve flown was flown looking for a place. Why do I set my soul on fire when I fire my engine?  Cornered in a corner, waiting to push the starter to start my pilot’s heart. Let me out. I want the oil in my eyes mixed with sweat.  I want to get lost in a beautiful exile.  Somewhere between take-off and never-land.  Where everything disappears but the sound of my radial and the rocking of my rocker arms on the currents of the wind.  Where the crack of sunrise spreads out like wildfire, until it burns into my shoulders and smolders down my neck into sunset. Scaring my face, etching on my skin our presence in this sacred place.  I want my legs to be numb, so tired of hanging on the rudders I can’t feel my toes in my boots.  Sweet exhaustion, traveling anywhere in the sounds of the air.  A lullaby in Nowhere.  Holding on to the stick until my hand slips off and we fly away.  Letting my plane take us anywhere he wants. I have no say. It’s raining today.

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