The Magic of Flight

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I sit in the waiting area
The elegant bird resting outside stares through the glass panes
Right at me
First or thousand-and-first flight, it does not matter
The thrill of flight nevertheless triggers me

I’m in a depressurized chamber
Adrenaline courses through my body
Specks of sweat line my forehead
I try not to show it
But it's clear that I’m anxious

At last, the boarding call comes
I present my pass before making my way down the gangway
There it is in all its beauty
Sleek and shiny and inviting
But before I enter, I practice a tradition

Placing my hand on the fuselage of the bird
I feel and appreciate the cool metal under my fingertips
This simple act of passion surely invites judging eyes
They attack the back of my head
I don’t mind

As I’m welcomed onboard
The anxiousness I felt earlier evolves
In its place emerges a childish excitement
Sitting down and fastening my seatbelt
The magic of flight creeps up on me

The bird gracefully glides out to the runway
It pauses almost as if to second guess itself
But confidence arrives just as my mind begins to crave action
One foot forward, then the other
Faster, faster, faster...

Slowly, surely, the bird rises
Beak pointed upward, it soars into the unknown

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