Friday, March 27, 2009

In the Airship

Up here, where the air is thin, the ground rushes past, much of it a featureless blur.

The cares of the ground are gone - or, if not gone, blurred like the terrain itself. My only responsibility is to pilot the ship, to return safely. The wind blows through my hair and I tighten my grip on the controls. My job does not concern me, the tax man does not concern me, growing old does not concern me.

This is freedom.

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