There is a kind of poetry in flying,
In cruising over farmland in the spring;
Gazing at the geometric shapes
Of cultivated fields, of barns and houses.
There is a kind of artistry in flying,
Seeing lakes and rivers from above.
The eye beholds a large and varied canvas,
A multitude of textures, colors, forms.
There is a feeling of adventure,
A fresh perspective, a rediscovery
Of old terrain or landmarks we have known:
A special sense that comes with having flown.