As I was driving back from work in the ACT today, I noticed these paragliders crusing along the escarpment that skirts Lake George.
('Lake' George is a little generous at the moment, as the tide seems to be out and cows were happily grazing well below the high water mark.)
The area is well-known for its hang gliders and ultralights. In the right conditions, when easterly winds are blowing, these guys can cruise along the 25km length of the lake.
As I watched the paragliders, it deepened my yearning to be able to fly. I was reminded of how many dreams I have where flying is a central feature. I seem to do a lot of dream flying. And I really enjoy it.
It tends to look a little more like the latest Honda Accord ad, without slavish encumberments like parachutes. Sadly, no matter how good rocket backpacks become, or how much weight I lose, my dreams of flying will remain that: dreams. Dreams that I will continue to enjoy.
A desire to fly seems to be ingrained into most human beings (at least the strange ones I've met and talked with over the years). Why is it? Perhaps it's seen as the ultimate expression of freedom, of movement, of vitality.
The birds make it look easy. And as poor a substitute as a paraglider is, I would have rather been up there with those guys today than down on the ground snapping some frantic photos.
It's my birthday next month. Some wings would be nice.
('Lake' George is a little generous at the moment, as the tide seems to be out and cows were happily grazing well below the high water mark.)
The area is well-known for its hang gliders and ultralights. In the right conditions, when easterly winds are blowing, these guys can cruise along the 25km length of the lake.
As I watched the paragliders, it deepened my yearning to be able to fly. I was reminded of how many dreams I have where flying is a central feature. I seem to do a lot of dream flying. And I really enjoy it.
It tends to look a little more like the latest Honda Accord ad, without slavish encumberments like parachutes. Sadly, no matter how good rocket backpacks become, or how much weight I lose, my dreams of flying will remain that: dreams. Dreams that I will continue to enjoy.
A desire to fly seems to be ingrained into most human beings (at least the strange ones I've met and talked with over the years). Why is it? Perhaps it's seen as the ultimate expression of freedom, of movement, of vitality.
The birds make it look easy. And as poor a substitute as a paraglider is, I would have rather been up there with those guys today than down on the ground snapping some frantic photos.
It's my birthday next month. Some wings would be nice.
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