She loved the pace. The way her limbs moved as she sped past the trees and bushes. The smells that drifted past, the sounds that she never bothered listening. The way the wind brushed her face. She always wondered if it could get saltier!
The sky always beckoned her. It seemed as if she belonged there. Looking down upon the whole world, gave her the favourite view. Upon the cliff, she was her own queen. Watching the foamy waves lap hardly at the rocks beneath, crest after crest, she felt this was the magical world she had seen in her dreams. And the flight. Oh, she could never forget that.
The land of magic had taught her to be daring. To conquer her greatest fears was the greatest accomplishment and so she’d learned. But learning wasn’t enough! She embarked in the glory of having overcome her fear of heights. She’d always heard her grandmother say “You can never fly dear, if you remain scared of the height”. And so the day she jumped off the cliff, she’d flown.
Suspended in mid-air with no substance above or beneath her, she had the most exhilarating journey and so she couldn’t forget even the tiniest detail.
And so she flew at all times of the day. Off the cliff she’d jump to wave a thrilled hand at the frothy waves, to skim past the ocean surface and say hi to the Aquas, to touch the fluffy clouds and experience the wonderful sensation of them dissolving between her fingers, to play hide and seek with the sun and to pause for a breath and the solid rocks. The trees hummed their silent remorse at their immobility, as she sped past, singing what the cuckoo taught her.
To fly was her biggest dream and now that she was always atop the clouds, she remembered the girl who had dreamt of the magic land and her frequent flights.
Stepping out from the cockpit in a freshly pressed white uniform, she remembered, once again, what it means to have lived her dream. She was a girl, who had soared high, looked down and felt proud that she’d actually flown.

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