How odd; in fourteen year I’ve never seen but once before a hang glider cross the upper space of my backyard. And now, this morning, September 11th, and just a day or two after posting about the local airport referendum, and the crashes I have been to there.
Along with four other flyers today, I think of a young man laying crumpled, still strapped in to some contraption that he believed would fly. His fiance, his mother held at bay; his brother screaming, sobbing, trying to wake him up although he lay deep in the grasses of a field beyond the woodsline of the airport.
Another prayer today, for him as well. He will remain within my space of memory forever.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology