Fear of Flying

When I was a child

I never slept at naptime.

I would slowly rise up

to the ceiling and

look down

at my  silent self,

then fly around the room

and out the window.

I’d check on the nest

in the tree outside my window

then go up, through the branches

up through clouds

into the sunshine,

far enough to see the curve of the Earth

pale, in the distance.

As I grew older

my flight time diminished;

still, I excelled in science class

when we learned about meteorology

and cloud formations.

I remembered my time

among them, and counted them

as friends

As an adult,

I have a fear of heights.

I left behind the foolishness,

and the magic,

of flying away from my body

until this morning…

Something is different

and familiar -

a feeling in the back of my throat,

perhaps a change in

barometric pressure

(or grown-up life pressures).

I feel a lightness I haven’t felt in ages…

and the rushing up.

I look down at myself,

zoom once around the room ,

then sail out the window

and across the open field

down the road and out over the ocean.

And now I know,

I was never afraid of heights,

I was afraid

that once I left

I would

never come back.

Check out Magpie Tales by Tess Kincaid for more responses to the image, or add your own.  Image by Martin Stranka.  This is also linked to IGRT open link night.  Go there to read a variety of wonderful poems by some fabulous toads.