Earthbound

When did I lose the ability to fly?  I used to soar, swoop and dive.  In childhood dreams, I would be running and suddenly my steps would be longer and bounding and I would be lighter and then I'd be aloft.  Awake, I would tie two corners of one of my mother's big silk scarves around my neck, hold the other two as high as my arms could reach, and hope if I ran fast enough the wind would catch in my sail and lift me up (it never did).  As an adult, I thrilled when the opportunity came to learn to fly a single-engine plane.  I still have the shirt I wore when I lost my "pin feathers."  There is a ritual ceremony in which the tail of one's shirt is cut off after the first solo flight.  A few more solo trips and then circumstances of life intervened and I flew no more.  I no longer dream that I can fly, but I feel a kinship with the many birds that I watch every day, and perhaps a touch of envy.  I am earthbound.

Camille has brought her mother from Montana for a prolonged visit and I am relieved of my stewardship of her animals.  Breakfast for the alpacas went a bit smoother yesterday. They showed ever so slightly less aggression and so I will tender a halfhearted apology to the breed.  In time, we might have established rapport.  Or not.