Can the magic of flight ever be carried by words? I think not.
Watersheds come in families; nested levels of intimacy... As you work upstream toward home, you're more closely related. The big river is like your nation, a little out of hand. The lake is your cousin. The creek is your sister. The pond is her child. And, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, you're married to your sink.
Pilots track their lives by the number of hours in the air, as if any other kind of time isn't worth noting.
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