Lift
The landing gear clicks home and we rise, breaking through cloud, into a cotton-wool-world, so soft and comforting, you'd expect to see angels at play.
Breaks in their protection, provide a glimpse, mapped in harsher greens, and browns, of a distant world below.
Four forces keep us in the air, none within my control. But with a few words of encouragement, delivered by my own guardian angel, the yoke is in my hands.
This is freedom.
The moment is brief, before safer hands take her.
"Just wait until you jump from one," he grins.
I smile, "Bring it on"