Sometimes I Fly
Today I booked a beach rental near Kitty Hawk on the outer banks of North Carolina. I visited there about three years ago and I was so moved by this windswept shore that birthed human flight. I’ve invited two of my favorite people to come all the way from Illinois to share it with me. One, a former pilot, I’m sure will enjoy it.
It reminded me of this post I wrote months ago, when I was having a particularly good day editing my books. I never shared it here and I’d like to.
Sometimes I Fly
I’ve always wanted to be a bird. In eighth grade I took my first trip in a plane. I squirmed with joy during take-off when it was everything I had dreamt.
I was flying.
One of my most common reoccurring dreams has always been being airborne. I’m surprised to find myself aloft, then I remember. That’s right. I always knew how to do this. I just forgot I knew. Sometimes I get details of what works, like I have to hop twice on my left foot before I jump off, but those recipes for flight have never been the same twice and not one has worked the next morning.
Read the rest at Sometimes I Fly.
I jumped out of a helicopter today without a parachute. I used my ability to see the future to save my mother’s life, I stared down two villains at gunpoint, I orchestrated a corporate take-over and I played with penguins. It was a great afternoon.
“I don’t believe in coincidence.” Hard-boiled detectives say it, new age psychics say it, and conspiracy fans whisper it while glancing behind them. My own philosophy tends towards the interconnections of things, so I echo the thought too. No where in my life is the strange interrelationship of information more apparent than when I do research for my books.
S. R. Cronin 