flying

I was outside in a vast grassy space, very near the beach. I wanted to catch a particular bird, a grey pigeon, so I decided to fly. I had two pieces of beautiful red fabric and I held a piece in each hand. I lifted my arms and willed myself up, the wind catching the fabric and sweeping me into the sky. I was flying, using both the force of the wind and my faith in the flight. I flew up and around in giant circles, enjoying the sensation of being in the air. I spiraled over the ocean and up over the cliffs. I saw birds in flight: ducks, seagulls, and even a black swan. I flew over to the swan, wrapped my arms around its neck, kissed it on its bill, and told it that I thought it was beautiful. I then flew back down to the ground, still looking for the pigeon. I thought I would again alight and so I stretched my arms out, the red fabric acting like sails on the wind, and took off into the sky. I rode the currents of air, searching for the elusive bird. I could see far out to sea. I could see people moving about below. Eventually I landed and someone told me that they had seen the pigeon bathing in the ocean baths. I set out to find her.