I don't know about you,
but there are days -- moments -- where my life collapses about one event.
Even if it only lasts for a few moments.
Graduations, my wedding day, the day my children will be born (I gather), the day when a childhood icon,
a hero of metal and ceramic,
dreams and hopes incarnate in a flying wing, a gliding truck, pass over my head.
As I watched majestic DISCOVERY fly by,
bolted to the back of the 7 4 7 that gave her one last breath of wind before her long retirement at Udvar,
as my camera motors whirred and clicked and stored the moment as its own payload,
I knew that my life brought me here -- now -- in this moment and I'd be damned,
if I was going to miss a single moment of her goodbye, my only chance at hello.
For if not this moment then why the posters on my walls as a kid?
Why the eduction, the experience that led me to this job and this city?
Why such a strong connection felt for a winged truck?
Bellerophon cum clydesdale
Draught horse of the stars
Delta of childhood dreams
All of these before me, oh DISCOVERY whom I'd never seen aloft with my own eyes now there,
recumbant, one final tour.
One last breath of coastal air,
way up there,
before at long last coming to her well-deserved rest.
To think of victories and memories,
friends lost to fire and wonder,
bust mostly of DISCOVERY.