Posted by: writingwitch2013 | February 12, 2013

Retired pilot.


My wings are clipped now.
I am too old to soar weightless among the clouds and I have to spend my days, gazing upwards, watching a game of noughts and crosses being played across the sky.
Cotton wool now no longer brings images of light and fluffy clouds and serene peacefulness but rather it reminds me that when it is full of liquid it escapes, in a slow dribble at first, then it rushes down the trunks and legs of anything in it’s way to form a puddle of something murky on the ground.not the fresh water that had first been taken in, but the result of toxins and man made substances and pollution.
The blue of the sky, the bright sunlight bouncing off clouds and glass, no longer serves to make my heart sing, but rather mocks my decent to the earth. And that stomach gripping feeling of falling out of the sky is replaced with a fear of death and the inevitable darkness that follows the descent into the earth.
All these years I thought that while I was up there, I was so close to the Gods, when really down here I am closer to him than I have ever been.


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