camera phone phun

Darling hubby and I culled through our closet and dresser drawers.  We finished with 8 bags of clothing to donate and a few that just had to be trashed.  Apparently one can have too many polo shirts! 

Now we have room in the closet to move things back and forth and our dresser drawers open properly again.

~ … ~

I have been flying for decades.  I think I may have been eight or nine years old when I first began.  It was so difficult at first.  Learning the right amount of running time and just how small a rise would give me any lift.

At first the length of time I was airborne was so short, I thought I'd just imagined any time past the second or two of a normal hop, skip, and jump.  As each year would pass my time aloft would become more and more prolonged.  By age eleven I was surely aerial a good and equal eleven minutes.

It was not my imagination.

I was flying.

I could fly.

All by myself.  Up in the air.  Maybe a good forty feet above land.

I did well at keeping my secret.  I would say to my pholks that I was going to ride my bike.  And I would ride my bike.  I'd ride my bike to the most private places I could find.

Flying about in circles lost its interest quickly and so I was constantly searching for bigger spaces to hone my skill.

By age seventeen I could stay elevated for nearly an hour.  Landings were smooth and soft.  Height was no longer limiting — I could go as high as I chose, but not as high as I wanted.  Too much height could lead to discovery and I had an innate awareness to keep this gift from notice without the understanding of that wisdom.

At thirty I no longer needed to run a few a few paces up even the smallest bump in a field before I could take off.  Just a casual few steps and I was airborne.  I'd have to force the approach to altitude to keep aloft.

Around my fortieth birthday I'd conquered the ability to ascend and descent with the calmness of an ebb tide. 

Finding the time and place to take to the air was becoming a rarity.  Family, home, and life made it difficult for me to break away.  Our choice to live in a densely populated area also meant less alternatives for privacy.

I became unexpectedly aware that I was not noticeable.  Not me.  I had not become invisible, too.

My action was not detectable. 

It was the animals.  My dog no longer chased and barked from the ground below.  Instead she would just follow under me as if we were walking together.  Birds in flight were no longer startled to find me beside them. 

I could fly where ever I chose!  People might see me above them, but there was no panic.  It wasn't that they were accepting of my status in the air — they just couldn't see that I was flying.  Their minds were only conscious of my appearance.  Their memory was of seeing me at the grocery or across the street.  It was an oddly wonderful and sensational realization.

And this summer?  On this warm morning in the middle of my forty-ninth year?

I no longer needed any pre-steps to flight.

You were walking beside me, holding my hand, and I was hovering in that grasp.

Tomorrow I'm going to share this wonderful secret with you.

Tomorrow you will ride with me…

~ … ~

Monday (being yesterday) is also the day I prefer to change our bed linens.  

Lily is quite fond of Mondays, too…

Maybe Lily dreams of flying, too.

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