Aviation in a New Light

Written for a local competition on the topic of aviation.

The summer of my eighth year was a season of excitement, a season of changes brought by a shift in age. There was a new-found consciousness not only of myself but of my surroundings, vague impressions yet the embryos of things which would grow substantially within the next few years.

   During that season, I boarded a plane and reveled in that mystical mode of transportation that has changed so dramatically over the years. It was, upon conception, regarded as a showpiece to the ingenuity and innovation of Americans; one of those rare exhibitions of exultation that also posed its own distinct challenges. Later generations would grow accustomed to the field of aviation, yet its allure would never fail to scintillate. And, despite calamities within this field which have evoked bitter tears from people of all milieu, aviation continues to resonate within us a deep sense of pride in the accomplishments of humanity. We have solved perhaps the greatest encumbrance facing man’s ability to enjoy the beauty of this world and the various peoples which inhabit it �" the obligatory trek to experience the sights his eyes long to see.

   It was the magic of which is associated with aviation that I was beginning to become aware of that summer. In the mind of a child, flying was an infallible method by which to travel. Still, I did not know why my mother squeezed my hand and implored of God for safety as we ascended, but my fascination towards the ground we were rapidly being torn away from caused any questions my mind held to evaporate immediately. We were on the way to Maine, where my cousins lived and where I knew entertainment would lurk for two whole weeks. What a wonderful way to travel to this distant state, separated from my home by nearly the entire Eastern Seaboard.

   The week passed by jocundly, saturated in leisure; I took part in avocations I had no hope and no desire to pursue, but my cousins implored of me to partake in with them. Trying unsuccessfully to catch frogs at their neighborhood bog stands out in my mind �" as does the pit of mud I fell into �" and also the cabin which was backed by a serene lake, a sublime body of water in which to swim and race and revel in the fact that we were still children. I didn’t win the race to see who could reach the other side of the lake the fastest, but the simple act of swimming was a large enough vessel from which I  could extract pleasure, delight, and �" in later years �" an abundance of memories.

   Flying is much the same way. It is the golden mode of transportation, serving those who don’t have the time nor patience to arrive at their destination at a dawdling pace, but if they were to observe the precious landscape below and not their timepiece, they will find themselves entranced. Just as I was that summer of my eighth year.

   

Author's Note

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