My husband skydives. He careens through the blue, reaching with outstretched arms toward a horizon that no matter how close he seems to fly, rolls away from him.
This past weekend, he filmed a team in a four-way competition. They won a silver medal (and he as well) for their skillful acrobatics in the firmament. For a view of such wonders, visit the video my husband captured with the camera on his helmet as he followed the four-way from the heavens downward. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BT11xQuk5Io
I asked him the other night as I watched the jumps unfold from the safety of our shared office, if skydiving felt real. In the video, land from above shifts with its sudden patterns of forested versus cultivated and populated, river versus earth, browns and greens laid out in skewed patchwork. To me, the video reminds me of those flying dreams I had as a child. And I can almost feel the cold air rushing me in memory even as I watch this thing, this amazing thing that he does, this thing that cannot be real to an earthbound person such as myself.
Soon, my husband will tumble from a plane for his thousandth jump. While I don’t share in his obsession with the sky, at least not from the same point of view, I plan to be there and celebrate with him.