Flying

Robert is selling his plane.

The memories of our flights together.

That first takeoff

As exciting as first passion.

Memories.

Passion and flight

From Washington D.C.

To Puerto Rico.

California to Florida

We flew

And we flew.

One trip, two planes,

Eight people,

Down the coast of Mexico

Into Guatemala

Along the sparkling

Green coast line.

Creamy beaches,

The blues of the ocean,

Turquoise, cerulean

Moving, changing.

We fly close to the ground.

Ruins among the jungle

Palm trees.

Long legged birds

Spread wings and

Soar into slow motion.

We visit cities along the coast,

Climb pyramids,

Enter Temples

In the shimmering heat.

We swim crystal clear waters

And ride a motor bike

Along the rocky coast

Frightening the big iguanas

Sunning themselves.

We stand at the point.

Giant waves of the Caribbean,

Crash onto the rocks below and

Wind and Spray

Plaster clothing to our bodies.

We are breathless and speechless

Before this roaring power.

Flying into Central America

Above white clouds like snow

As far as we can see.

In the distance,

Two black cones

Poke through.

Smoking volcanoes.

We circle.

We could hit them with a stone.

A hole in the clouds.

We dive

And land.

A glorious hotel

Open on all sides.

Cool breezes,

Cool tile,

Fat columns,

Palms

Shelter from the brilliant sun.

Oh memories

We flew and we flew.

Barbara Dunton