Climbing into the cramped metal oven
a pilots paradise
in a southeast Texas summer hell.
At home with the machine,
familiar as an old friend.
The door that doesn't lock,
the cracked yellow chocks,
all welcome quirks of a well used tool.
More than a tool!
More than a machine!
Others can't know the adventures shared,
the language spoken between us.
The crosswinds fought, the landings saved,
the dark nights searching for the airport beacon.
A shared measure of healthy respect,
Me: engine out's practiced, emergency procedures
memorized; My Craft: forgiving of my runway bumps
and high Vfe's. After the brief reaquantence of
preflight, Off we roll down the asphalt,
tach's good, temp and pressure in the green
airspeed alive, centerline held,
the air and the foil meld
lifting me into the humid sky.
Departure to the west,
to the practice area,
and beyond.
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