Dreams of Flight

Dreams of Flight

 

About 64 years ago, I got my first two – wheeler.

It had been junked by its prior owner and my eagle eyed

father thought it would fill the bill. He was right, but he didn’t know

that for many years that bike would trigger my dreams of flight.

 

For the few years I had that rusty wreck that had marginal

brakes and a seat that twisted and pointed as I leaned my body

into high speed turns, tricky maneuvers and sneaker sole stops,

it not only served as my principal means of transportation,

it was also my plane which, after achieving sufficient ground speed,

I could lift into the air by pulling back on the handlebars.

 

Landings were always fun. I would identify the edge of

the runway some distance off and slowly descend until the

wheels touched the earth to begin the bumpy taxi to

the hangar. While other kids my age had their motorcycles and trucks,

I had my small light plane, just like the ones we watched dust the crops.

 

Long after the bike was gone, I repeatedly dreamed of flight.

If I ran fast enough and spread my arms, I could lift off

and fly over the neighborhood, without need of plane or wings,

but when I awoke, I’d always remember that old bike.

 

I hadn’t had flying dreams in many years, but when we moved here

to Gloucester and watching seagulls launch, and gain altitude, soar

into the clouds and land, became part of my daily routine; and

since I believe, no matter what others may think , that the gulls

feel joy and pride when they fly, I, now, nearing 70 years,

once again dream of flight.

 

Marty Luster