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Flying - Salvador Dali in a lawn chair.
I'm invisible without 3D glasses.
The closest I ever came to flying was on a swing that my Uncle Ken built and pushed me on one afternoon in his small town gravel driveway.

It had a single rope that went through a punctured hole in the center of a reddish orange frisbee-like seat and tied underneath, so that when you were swinging, you were also spinning 'round and 'round and the whole seat could swing in any direction or in big circles.

When Uncle Ken threw his whole upper torso forward in that first push, I clutched the center rope between my hands and thighs and laughed and laughed and laughed, open-mouthed and breathless as the other trees watched me in delight, happy for me that I could fly.

And I swung, not back and forth, but almost horizontally as the faces of my family in the driveway turned upward to watch me flying, anchored only by that beautiful thick tree limb way above and my Uncle Kens arms propelling me higher.

And I laughed and laughed and laughed.

mood: nostalgic nostalgic
music: DJ Fallout (who I just now learned is Wes Odin)

Lift Your Voice Aloft