I’ve been thinking of learning to fly. They say you can do anything you put your mind to so that’s going to be it. I don’t need to soar to great heights. About four meters off the ground would be enough, it appears. That would give me a “bird’s eye view” of everything without taking me to altitudes where I barely recognize the landscape.
As ever, my interest lies in looking at the same things with a different perspective rather than at new things with my same old point of view. Many friends who have grown up in Pemberton seem to share this outlook-they might not care about flying but they would love to have a look at Mt Ronayne from someone else’s back yard, or gaze down at their house from Crown or maybe listen to the Pemberton Creek waterfall while feeling its spray on their faces.
Certainly, there are other benefits to flying-and I’m not talking about getting a pilot’s license here-I actually want the whole arm flapping adventure. It seems straightforward enough; I already have the impulse to shoot straight up at the darting of a squirrel or the unexpected appearance of a dark shape. Anyway-I was going to talk about the benefits: speed, lack of encumbrance, new vistas explored between branches and secret deer trails. I picture the passage through a forest as similar to that of a trout weaving through the reeds, sleekly and effortlessly. From my four meter vantage point, I would see a lot, which leads to my final desire for wanting to fly.
I want to have a reason to see things differently-to never have to justify why I might have an unexpected viewpoint or slightly skewed perspective. People would just say, “Well, no wonder she thinks that way-she’s always flying around through the woods and over lakes and into people’s back yards. It only makes sense.” It’s a superpower fantasy with practical pinnings; I want to be different enough that no one questions my eccentricities, yet similar enough that my adventures are recognizable. Then again-maybe I just need other people to fly.