Dust devils lifted debris and spattered it against the white
curvature of the old airplane, scouring fresh glistening scars deep into the
aluminum skin. The plane trembled in the gust, remembering trundling across
sun-melted tarmac at IQT, wheels clinging to stickyhot macadam, air painfully
thin, racing faster and faster, grasping for lift. It remembered sliding
sideways toward DCA, buffeted by swirling winds over the Potomac, racing caustic
gulls to the runway. It remembered the triumph of thrust overcoming gravity,
climbing skyward into deepening cerulean, clouds streaming from the tips of its
wings in delicate evaporating vortices.
Elsewhere in the boneyard, carcasses of stripped aircraft shuddered,
open fuselages groaning and warping. Moans were pulled from desecrated machines
as wind whipped through torn skin, giving voice to the remainders.
The plane remembered flying over a kite festival not far
from PEK, sneering at the pitiful “aircraft” bobbing without power in the
slightest breeze, tethered to people even further below. With thundering
screaming engines it had conquered the sky, chasing the sun and watching the
Earth fall away in an endless shining curve.
Thunderheads gathered, sweeping air before them in bursts that swirled into a gale that beat against the old craft. It remembered the
kites, dancing on the slightest breeze. It remembered lift. It remembered
flying. It quivered, balancing delicately on time-softened tires, and then,
ever so slightly, the nose rose. The wind gusted again, harder, pushing.
Lifting. The nose rose again, higher. The plane tilted upward, wind caressing
its wings, sliding past the scars of amputated engines, flowing over ailerons
and stabilizers, elevators and flaps and gifting them with renewed purpose. The
plane lifted, reaching. It twisted into the storm, holding steady, waiting,
waiting for a cyclone to tear it free again from gravity.
Days later the plane sat, still balanced on rear wheels and
tail, nose pointed skyward. It waited. It remembered.
prompted by this video: skyward
prompted by this video: skyward
Wonderful! You have breathed life into an old, discarded heap of metal and made me feel pity for its sad, silver soul.
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