When I was four years old, I discovered I could fly. Then I was told I couldn’t. Gravity is not the only thing that holds you to the ground.
JFK was being buried on the Magnavox and I flew above the backyard. There was too much sorrow in and around the television set.
I remember it, not as a dream, but as a real thing. “I flied,” I said, but was ignored. I was four years old and the President was in his coffin.

Published by

Steven Baird

Writer, amateur photographer, ad compositor and chicken herder.

4 thoughts on “Flying”

  1. That’s so interesting. A child has faith that adults seem to lose over time. But what if that faith doesn’t go away? That’s been pulling at my mind lately, and I think I’m going to explore it a little more thoroughly. It’s just a spark, but…. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes. I’m intrigued by the idea that as very young children we actually close down our perceptive capabilities. We are socialized into a culture and receive all those messages about what is real and what isn’t. What if we were raised in a culture that perceived the presence of angels, or the ability to fly, or shift time as ordinary and common aspects of the culture. Would our perceptions remain open? Fun isn’t it?

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Oh yes. I’ve been struggling lately with writer’s insecurity, trying to find the right subject and voice. This one hit me on Monday morning, and I’ve been carefully going over it, to see if it’s sustainable. I think it is. And your comments are very helpful. I think I have the character and background, I just need to flesh it out a little more. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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