I used to fly when I was a child

I used to fly when I was a child.
Not in-an-airplane-type of flying, but without one.

Whether in real life, or in my imagination, or in my dreams,
            I don’t remember.
I do remember it absolutely seemed like it was real life.

I would think about flying and up I would go—
            rising slowly, calmly, off the grass,
            above the yard, above the roof of my house,
between the trees, then hovering, turning,
            so, I could see all around.

There must have been some sort of magic involved.
Not the kind that comes from pixie dust or wands.
The kind that comes from children
            who believe that anything is possible.

It was peaceful up there.
            I could move around if I wished, look around, turn.

If I stopped concentrating, or thought someone might see me,
            down I would go,
            like the air leaking out of a balloon, slowly.

It only worked to float up high when no one was watching.
            After all, it’s not very conventional.
            And, I didn’t want to get in trouble.

It was so wonderful to ascend above the yard and the house!
            So natural… so supernatural!
            But, I had never heard of that word at that age.

I figured my friends couldn’t fly like I could …
            I never asked them.
I don’t remember when or why I stopped flying.

One day, I really will fly again—
            fly away and never come down.
            Fly to a new home where I see old friends
            and learn that they too, knew how to fly.

© 2026 gratefulsue