I see America from up above, as I fly in my red, white and blue plane. Soaring about the unlimited skies, no roads or lines to confine me. My flight is a motion movie, created with the wind under my wings and the propeller moving me forward.
I see below the people looking up, some wave, some duck and hide, as I scoop lower to give them a better show. A chuckle rolls up through my belly and I laugh. Ah, this is the life. The American life.
I look below and see a family yard sale. The buyers’ noses pointing downward perusing the possible bargains. The sellers looking up as they hear my pursuit and in their boredom, they wave and with their arms out to their sides, they tilt their bodies back and forth in a waving motion, and I direct the plane to mimmick their movement. I wave with my wings then recognize the woman on the ground as someone I graduated from high school with.
It is Memorial Day weekend, and people are gathering for picnics and cook-outs. I see them all from up above. I travel north and the terrain below changes from flat fields and woods to water and cottage roofs. And I see them, the water people who have taken a different route than I. They glide across the water, as I glide across the sky.
And this is it, you know, the American life. The beauty of it is all that I survey. God and I up in the sky. I shake His hand, and as I land, I wave good-bye.