give me wings

on the plane from Boston to Chicago

I never realized until today how much I love take-off.  Maybe it's because it's always the same.  No matter what language the flight attendants speak, the planes all speak a common tongue.

I speak it, too.
I may not be knowledgeable about the inner workings of the engine, or understand the science behind flight.  But I know the racing-pulse of the engines, remember the thrill of lift-off, anticipate the glee of peering down on the Earth from far above.  It's a marvel, yes, but a familiar one.  I've been doing this since I was born.  Perhaps it's in my blood, to some extent.  Born to an aviation mechanic, raised under an international and military flight path, growing up as a frequent stand-by passenger-- I am a comfortable and usually-happy fly-er.  Oh sure, there's a bit of nerves before flight, sometimes during the flights (especially at landing)-- but I think that's true of any relationship.

And we are friends-- flight and I . . .