My daughter and I were talking the other day and something she said reminded me of the time when I could fly.* (see note at end)
Not when I would pretend to fly, running back and forth and pretending. I mean when the wind tickled me just so, when the air was full of a scent to sutble to described, when my heart lept and beat swiftly in my heart and I knew...I knew...that I was just one step from sprouting wings and taking off into the air.
The ground fell behind me, and I was up in the clouds, free from constraint. There was nothing to fear; acrophobias fell away with the ground. There, high in the sky I was safe from all. I never needed to land in a tree or come down for a rest; my wings were strong, I was indefatigable. I fly wherever I liked for however long I liked.
Eventually of course I came down. Back on earth, staid and steady. And evenutually the feeling that I could fly left me.
At least most of the time.
But sometimes still that child in me knows---or perhaps the real me inside knows....I am only one step away from flying. Concentrate just right and I will take off, and gain the sky.
I have to wonder if the evolutionist haven't got it wrong. We weren't sea-born creatures; we come from the air; we were birds who lost the ability to fly.
*(Robert McCammon, in his book Boy's Life has a stick in your mind forever scene in his book about flying. I love and highly recommend the book. It works on so many different levels, and is quite beautiful.