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Tuesday, April 1, 2014

A is for Airborne


Bloggingfrom A to Z

When I checked today I am number 1455 out of 2215 writers - feel free to check out as many as you can! My sister, Vicki Paulus, is number 1454. 

We ran down the hill. No, that’s wrong.  We galloped down the hill, slipping and tumbling as though the sands of the hillside were mud.  End over end, down the steep hill.  Mouths wide open gulping in as much of the gritty sand as air.   

Blue skies overhead erupt as the fly-boys from Kincheloe  scream overhead breaking the sound barrier with a deafening boom.  The sound reverberating off the hill sides.  Hurriedly we clap our hands to the sides of our heads, covering our ears.  

Somewhere nearby another flyer is heard, a large bird of prey screams at us.  We have, once again, disrupted it’s hunt.  Several rabbits take advantage of our distraction and scurry to cover. 

It’s late spring, nearly summer.  School will be out and we will have three glorious months.  Soon enough the hot sun will beat the sides of the sand-pit, turning the moist, pliable, soft sands into baked hard crust.  But for now, the tumbling is fantastic.  The sands have just enough moisture to cling, but not enough to make sludge. 

From the top, running as hard as we can.  Arms pumping, lips pursed in concentration, dodging the blackberry bushes on our freshly made path, feet pushing off the ground….out, out, into the air. Airborne, just like the fly-boys.  For just a moment…that one elongated, may last forever moment, we are airborne.  We can fly.

Our flying contest is marked, not by where your behind fell, or where you rolled until you could finally stop, but where your feet dug into the sands.  Your landing gear is what counts here, not the fuselage, not the wings. 

Brushing the sand from our hair, off our clothes and somewhat off our faces.  We give one another a knowing glance.  It will take days to get the sand out of our ears and nose and any other crevice it will have worked its way into. We laugh and trudge back up the hill to do it all over again. 



  1. Great description that conjures up the simple joys of childhood.

  2. This wouldn't be the hill at Blue Lake would it? I can see you tumbling down it in my mind's eye.

  3. Yes ma'am. Across the lake is an old gravel portion is a great jumpin' sand hill.

  4. ahhh the idea of sand...I can think about only beach. But love the imagery here. Makes me want to break out and run!

  5. Wonderful fun! I remember rolling down grassy hills as a child. Sometimes I sure wish I could back!
    I'm one of the team from the Poetry of the Netherworld blog. :-)

  6. Lovely A post :)

    Good luck with the rest of the challenge! x

  7. Oooh, gorgeous post! I could almost feel the wind in my hair!

  8. THREE glorious months?? Those days are long over, but I'd love to gallop down a hill, anyway.