Ah, yet again something reminds me of wings long lost…
A brief stint at Ed Rasimus’ place found this and once again my mouth twitched.
It’s madness, I know, to think of it – that I could sit in that thing and not lose it all over the place. But a part of my muscle memory says, “Yes – and thus…”, remembering what it has never known.
I often think of my dear friend who gets to touch the things daily. Her desk covered with schematics, and her hard drive full of stress computations, her particular speciality. (A shortened story: they couldn’t figure out why a certain hinge on one side of a craft kept failing. They finally sent her on-site. Turns out they chose that side to piss when the in-flight need presented itself. Try and predict that in your mock-up.)
I think of her and a selfish part of me demands to know why she can’t get me closer to it – to at least touch the thing if not sit in it, if not feel it heaving from the ground…Och, but I know why, of course. It is simply Not Done. Too, I recall one man’s very slight playtime in the sky and how my stomach was surprised by the sensation. I had thought it was all…visual.
So for those of you whose wings still take you, falling up, tilt those wings for me now and then, won’t you? Because my eyes never fail to look when one of you goes by, no matter the distance.
(I still think this the finest, sexiest, most beautiful aircraft ever known.)