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Paragliding | |
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Use the interactive map on the left to view panoramas and images of flying locations. |
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I think we have all looked skyward, watching birds playing in the wind. Ducking and soaring, then climbing with tiny adjustments they play in a world we only just imagine. Every time I sit in a plane, I gaze longingly out the portholes as the plane breaks the clouds, a vast ocean of brilliant white, puffy, intricate, almost fairytale, and it makes me dream. I am glad that I live in an age where technology has allowed me the freedom of flight÷ so compact that it sits like a cocoon on my back, to spring open when the weather is fair to become airborne, to fly. People often ask me what it's like to fly, suspended beneath a canopy of air filled fabric. It took a lot of thought, but I finally found an answer that conveys the sensation I have the moment I leave the ground, it's something best conveyed by a sound, from perhaps the one creature that is qualified to make that sound÷. The piercing cry of a bald eagle as it soars overhead, vast, haunting and free. That is what flight means to me, a state of being in the moment and only the moment, that's what it is to soar. Be there.
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