ISLAND OF THE WIND.
I had three interwoven aims in this trip. The treatment of my Psoriasis, the writing of my novel away from all distractions and lastly to be on my own to mourn and remember my mother who passed away very unexpectedly a year ago.
7th Jan 2015. Birmingham International Airport, fleeing from the cold dark days of Northern Europe to hopefully sunshine and heat. Passport controls, take your shoes off, pull out your toothpaste and then once through a glance at all the ‘duty frees’ that seem, as or more expensive than the High Street. At last the caterpillar into the plane.
I just love the taxi out to the end of the runway, the exhilaration at having made it through all the officialdom and to be starting a journey and an adventure.
Walking out your own front door, bags in hand is a start, but this is the real moment of beginning.
Now comes that wonderful sequence, as after a few (sometimes long) moments of stillness the engine note changes, climbing in power, you can feel the tension between the brakes holding hard to the ground and the engine and wings wanting to fly. The brakes come off and we accelerate, faster and faster, the plane trying to leave us behind, and then; YES! That first wonderful airborne moment.
How lucky we are; heavy, pedestrian, earthbound creatures that through artifice are able to share the world of the skies, to sail the cloud-seas and to gain that panoramic perspective of our world. We skim through the low but patchy cloud cover and level out a bit. Through gaps in the cloud one can see into the depths, the jigsaw of green and brown patterns, of fields and tiny blocks of houses all bound together by ribbons of tarmac and slow sewing vehicles. Already I am of the upper world, no longer an earthbound entity but one of the superior beings of the air. I used to be as small as that, but look how big I am now, my eye can seize whole counties at a glance.