Last launch of the day - 2200 ft and
two minutes after sunset, soft scarlet strands merging layer cloud
into threads of valley mist to the south. To the north under magenta
sky a carpet of fog shrouds the entire Thames Valley. Three score
miles away to the east the lights of evening commerce queue
into Heathrow, the lead disappearing softly down into the fog. Bright cherry clad fingers of Membury and Kingsclere soaring up
through the mist; the lights of hamlets twinkling in the gloaming.
Below fellow aviators, momentarily my
humble support, track slowly up the airfield behind headlamps drawing
the means of my brief release from earthbound existence to its well
earned place of rest.
I sit in crystal air with views beyond
the Evening Star. I am the aviator, I am the navigator, I have no
purpose or existence beyond my craft.
Everything is – just – perfect.
Wow, my second cousin the sky walker poet! Thanks for allowing me, even in imagination, the experience too! Love Gail
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