Flying machine

“Yes, I’m grounded
Got my wings clipped
I’m surrounded (by)
All this pavement
Guess I’ll circle
While I’m waiting
For my fuse to dry
Someday I’ll fly
Someday I’ll soar
Someday I’ll be
So damn much more
‘Cause I’m bigger than my body
Gives me credit for”. John Mayer

Serpentine roads wind through millionaire jungles, vibration of the engine nestled below me as the sun falls through the trees in freckled specks upon my skin. Thoughts move easily with the wind in my face, watching the ocean pass by, yet it doesnt move, it is we who circumvent the island as accidental tourists, it’s we who move through unnoticed. Clouds move overhead in scattered formations, as hues of blues move into darkening clumps that hang suspended above our heads like puppets on invisible strings, and as the music drifts back to find me, a favorite song plays as I lift my arms and suddenly I’m flying as cool breeze cleanses the heat of the day that left a damp sunscreened stickiness. No flip flops here, traded in for jeans I find now too loose, cinched with a belt and the weight of these boots, combat ready to protect, I watch the hawk circle above us as we are doing 75 on the 75 and realize this equipment weighs me, keeps me from being weightless with wings. Scenery passes by in a blur, drivers beside us speed by as they talk into their device or text with just a passing glance, some have feet on the dashboard as they nap their jourmey away. A tire blown out ahead gives us a time to move a little slower, moving around the black lump in the middle of our lane and seeing the truck ahead, rim looking like a silver molten heap, so many things to take note of in this land of optional signals, no ones gonna do it for us and as the skies become more grey, tiny drops begin to fall on my sunglasses, leaving the edge of life blurred just a bit, refreshing coolness on bare shoulders to take away the sting from yesterday’s sun and as a huge bug smashes into my chin, bringing me out of my thoughts with a start, I come back to earth and beyond the sign earmarking our turn ahead, skies turn back to a gorgeous blue, and the garage sits waiting, its gaping mouth open for the steed. Another journey made in one piece, and I know those birds above must have it so easy, no thoughts as they just become one with the sky, catching a breeze and flying, soaring just because they can. Until then, we will journey on the flying steed past waves and mansions, feet a short distance from the ground, happy just to be alive.