Once again, I'm squashing my inner perfectionist. I'm linking up with a group of brave bloggers who were all handed a single-word prompt, a five minute timer, and told to simply let the words flow. No backtracking, no second guessing. Just writing for the joy of words, for the exploration of our own funny minds, and for the reminder that writing is fun.
Thank you, Lisa-Jo Baker, for making your blog a safe place for this much-needed reminder. :)
So here I go!
Prompt: "fly"
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I was twelve. I was sure the other passengers knew it, but they were smiling at me like I was only three.
We were certainly all acting like three year olds--all of us squealing and crowding the tiny window and enjoying the rumble of the engines beneath us. It was our first flight. To see us, you would have thought it was the first flight in human history.
Grandma's car had to be brought from Houston. Daddy could have done it alone, but he knew that a thirty-minute flight would be like Christmas to his girls. So he invited us along.
I can close my eyes and still see the moment of liftoff. My braces are exposed in a permanent grin, the asphalt running by faster and faster until--
a sudden tilt!
The ground and cars and landscape became toy-like beneath us. It was so novel: tiny buildings and roads and points of insincere blue that we knew were backyard swimming pools, all beneath a truer blue of sky than we had ever seen.
Thank you, Lisa-Jo Baker, for making your blog a safe place for this much-needed reminder. :)
So here I go!
Prompt: "fly"
____________________________________________________
I was twelve. I was sure the other passengers knew it, but they were smiling at me like I was only three.
We were certainly all acting like three year olds--all of us squealing and crowding the tiny window and enjoying the rumble of the engines beneath us. It was our first flight. To see us, you would have thought it was the first flight in human history.
Grandma's car had to be brought from Houston. Daddy could have done it alone, but he knew that a thirty-minute flight would be like Christmas to his girls. So he invited us along.
I can close my eyes and still see the moment of liftoff. My braces are exposed in a permanent grin, the asphalt running by faster and faster until--
a sudden tilt!
The ground and cars and landscape became toy-like beneath us. It was so novel: tiny buildings and roads and points of insincere blue that we knew were backyard swimming pools, all beneath a truer blue of sky than we had ever seen.
Unlike the toy-like images you describe, childhood experiences seem bigger than life, don't they? Your post reminds me to view more of my adult life with the eyes of a child. Visiting from FMF.
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