Low & Slow


Drenched in the scarlet splendor of sunset,
   I have nuzzled the gently rounded bellies of clouds,
   plunged into the long darkness beneath trees, only to
   sail laughing over their tops.
I have spiraled into sweetly scented fields of hay and
   teased the tops of emerald cornstalks.
I have felt adrenaline dread and the dizzy
   hypnotic power of the upward rushing earth.
I have ridden the thermals and played tag with the wind,
   smiling until the muscles of my face ached, laughing until
   I grew hoarse, shouting down in triumphant joy on the
   toast-brown backs of soaring hawks.
The early dawn flights that seared my eyes with frosty tears,
   warm June evenings of fireflies and warbling birds,
   towering golden cumulus on the southern horizon, purr
   of the engine, scents of gasoline and sun-warmed straw,
   and the vision of the lavender shades of dusk spilling from
   the bowl of descending night...
The rumble of freshly mown fields beneath the wheels, the
   sudden silence after the prop spins to a stop,
   and the smiles of friends as I remove harness and helmet to
   stand upon the earth once more.
Their eyes and faces aglow, they ask,
   "Well? How was it?"
And all I can do is burst into joyous laughter,
   while from somewhere above ten thousand feet,
   my heart holds hands with God and smiles down on us all.


-Frank H. Weeden
 19 June, 2001