Run off the cliff?
Into the air?
Nuts, I tell ya!
I'm told this is not a certified aircraft.
I'm suppose to know that for some reason,
That some authority does not recognize it as a flying machine.
There's the postage stamp
We can land on if we don't make it above the power lines.
Stomach slightly queasy
But nothing like when engines are involved,
Engines that drown out silence.
So I breathe deeply,
Bring oxygen to the belly
As we circle in a thermal air mass.
The chute makes a shadow like a bird,
Spreads its yellow and orange wings wide.
My gaze levels mountaintops
And the patch of grass
Where we ran off the cliff,
Fluffed the chute,
Where an attractive couple tanned themselves in the sun
And gave me thumbs up after I told them–
This is my first time.
As we circle,
Play with air,
Wind sings in my ears,
Blowing this way,
Air for miles,
Even under me,
And I wonder
If I could get used to living like a bird.
Landing is like stumbling.
I've forgotten how to walk,
Been high for so long,
No longer know what ordinary life is.
© Circling Hawk Paragliding • Santa Barbara, California • Bo Criss • 805-403-5848 • Bo@CirclingHawk.com