Little bird of blue

The rays of sun beamed down from the sky laying a thick layer of warmness on the Earth’s surface. The dark yellow school bus happily chugged along the valley’s floor and up the hill to drop off the captives for their usual morning classes. Steeping briskly, as I do, I made my way to room two where I took a seat on the chilled plastic chair that I was expected to stick to like glue. My heavy books were plopped on the table as a sigh of reality takes hold of my lungs. The confining walls lined with large glass sheets let my eyes wander the landscape. The mountains breathe deep breaths of fresh air, I see their lungs fill nature and freshness. The trees sway as the mountains exhale long and slow. The room that I sit in is atop a tall hill that oversees a field. I look down upon the land that lays many feet below, just observing. Until suddenly a small scrub jay painted in blue and black leaps off of the chipped greed roof. My first thought was that his small wings and small body would plummet down to the field below. Instead, he gracefully soared through the open air. He seemed weightless and unbelievably free. I wish with all of my mind and body that I could be that scrub jay. I wish that I could weightlessly jump off of buildings and without a care float through the sky. Instead, I sit heavy and flightless.

Found on flyinglesson.us

Up and down

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It begins with a white red blast.

 

Will the velocity ever last?

 

Takes much time to break that one rule.

 

Reaching for such heights makes one a fool.

 

Stage one is simple, there’s no doubt.

 

The engines come alive with a deafening shout.

 

Stage one the last barrier is broke.

 

The fire of human ingenuity is stoked.

 

Stage two the rocket leaves earth behind.

 

The view could only satisfy mankind.

Clipped Wing

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Walking down to the field.
Will such pride be brought o heel.

Prison a room, prison a sky.
Whom is the man whom wonders why?

It is not him, he forces the chain.
Whom causes a free bird such pain?

Clip wings, back lashed.
I suppose we should have walked back.

The bird was free, or so it thought.
Wings broken, a bird rot.

Airplane.


“Good evening passengers, we are about to take off. Please fasten your seat belts. Thank you.”

I take a deep breath.
Wherever the plane takes me, I will be excited because it marks the time for something new again.

I’ve taken numerous flights, and airplanes have become an essential part of my life. Not many people enjoy their time flying, but for me, taking a flight is when I feel the most content. The hours become more valuable as I watch them elapse in the air.

Time ceases when I am flying.
Peace and comfort devour my body, drive my mind flowing ethereally as the plane carefully moves. The window vaguely reflects my face.
Then I start to think about nothing and everything.

“Take care my honey. We’ll miss you.”
I think about my family, the people who cultivated me. I see their encouraging smiles with concealed tears. But don’t cry my dears, I have set off to find my own sky, full of challenges but I am growing stronger.

“What time is it in your city? How are you doing there?”
I think about my friends, the people who have accompanied me from felicity to frustration, from failure to success. But don’t worry my friends, remember you are never alone. We fight for different goals, but we share the same sky.

“Who am I? What am I doing?”
In the end I think about myself. I see a little girl running back and forth curiously, turning into a mature figure with determination and aspiration. I am just an ordinary star from the endless galaxy, but I strive to be the most brilliant one.

I think about my dreams.
My dream of becoming a journalist ignited on the plane many years ago, when I read a newspaper for the very first time. I was amazed by the amount and variety of information that a piece of paper could convey. The dream has never vanished since then.
Just like a plane, which erases the distance and serves as a bond between different cities, countries, and even continents, journalism embraces the idea of connecting the whole world.

The destination of a flight is determined from the tickets. You know you will get there eventually, but the process is exciting and full of glamour.

Mostly, the flight is mundane enough for people to fall asleep; therefore, most of the time, people would miss the grace of sunset, the alienation of midnight, and the excitement of breaking dawn.

But a flight is not always soothing, turbulence is inevitable.
The valiant plane, however, breaks through the choppy air and punctures the woebegone clouds.
All of a sudden, you feel the warmth from the glaring sun that shines right above, and I guess this is what I enjoy about flying.

I take a deep breath.
Once you are flying at 37000 feet, you have a lot of time to think. That’s beautiful.

Looking outside the window, I see my vague reflection, and another crystal world which at this moment, only belongs to me.
Life is a journey, so I keep flying.