I keep finding myself
looking up at the sky.
That I used to fly in my younger days.
Beginning first by jumping off the roof of our house
when I was a little girl.
This an attempt to convince my parents
that I was too much of a tom-boy
and needed to take dance lessons
so I would act more like a dainty girl.
As a teenager, I longed to fly.
Knowing then that jumping off the roof
wasn't going to get me very far,
I began calling the airport
and asking about flying lessons.
Always too much money involved.
So I waited.
But would call every year, probably close to my birthday.
Always being told how much it would cost
and always realizing that I might never have
that kind of money.
Finally, one year, after hearing the same story,
I asked about skydiving.
It was cheaper.
So I did. Skydive.
Nearly 500 times.
And that was flying.
My body zipping through the air
at break-neck speeds.
Turning flips and linking up
with others to create kaleidoscope designs in the air.
|One of my earliest jumps, replete with round chute and Adidas high tops!|
I also kept asking about flying... airplanes.
And found out that I could work for flying time.
So I did. Work and Fly. Airplanes.
I gave it up when I had my daughter.
Too much time required to
satisfy my thrill of flight.
On pretty days I still look up at the sky
and think about those times
when my body tumbled
through the air.