As I sit at my desk pouting, I dream of airways and airports.
I dream of Arlington, airplanes, and acquaintances. Avionics and avgas too.
I sit here thinking that I could be aviating, checking my altitude and setting up my approach.
Time. Throttle. Turn. Twist. Talk. It dances in my head like day dreams on a rainy afternoon.
I check the weather, wonder what it's like. Trim into the wind I tell myself.
Oh the sound of aerobatic engines throbbing away while I nap in my chair next to the taxi-way.
Don't forget the look in the eyes of a grandpa with grandson as he steps out of his cub.
Ahhhh.... Is that Jet-A I smell?
Chris
Claborne, 7/2003