by Cheri Crone

Created on: December 17, 2008

It has been many years now since I have been able to 'fly' as I always thought of it , but the memories are just as clear as if it were yesterday. Ever since I can remember I have had a hard time falling asleep and would just stare out the window from my top bunk out into the night and just want to be out there in it. When I finally could fall asleep usually right before dawn, I was on my bed in the middle of the sky slowly falling downwards through the clouds as my whole bed spun in circles. I wouldn't fall very far before I would just rise up out of my covers, body slightly tilted forwards with my arms down and resting at my sides, then begin to fly. Sometimes it was still light out when I flew, but usually it was around dusk, I could see people, streets, rooftops, cars, dogs running down the streets, etc....I was always in awe of how everything looked so clean, and the way the little round shadows would bounce up and down when someone was playing basketball. Sometimes it would get very cold and dark and I couldn't see anything below for long periods of time.

There were several occasions that stand out in my mind of the times I stopped off someplace along my journey through the night. One in particular that stands out quite vividly happened on one of my dusk flights. I came down into a large field next to a lovely little oasis of trees and hills, it was cool outside, the wind was blowing just enough to cause the tree branches to sway back and forth in a rocking motion, it was quite tranquil. When I came down I was sitting in front of an easel with a paint brush in my hand, at least the hand I was controlling that is, I couldn't see the body of whomever I was looking out from, just the arms from the elbows down, they were medium in size, not real young looking but not elderly either, I was wearing some kind of a smock type shirt with very loose fitting sleeves, the bottom's of the sleeves reminded me of something a clergy or judge would be wearing, The hands mesmerized me with their confident and fluid motions, the picture I was painting was quite beautiful, the only thing that didn't seem to make sense to me was the fact that the hands were a man's hands, and I am not a man. I sat there for quite a while before I had finished the painting, I remember letting out a big sigh of satisfaction, then giving my painting one last good study before I put the last touch to it, yes, It's done. Now being a crafty person myself I am my toughest critic, I will never stop

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