Yesteryear Fiction

Flying
By E.S. Wynn


Flying over the water for the first time, I can’t help but smile.

Winds sing along the cables, flex through canvas wings. I see her raven-black hair spilling out into the wind, long and flickering. She smiles down at me. Her long, golden fingers release my wings, and then I am gliding, gliding.

On long, elegant black wings, she soars off into the endless heavens, laughs in a wind of pure joy. The cables are tight. The water flashes cool below, endless as the sky, and where they meet:

That’s us.


- - -
E.S. Wynn knows a thing or two about the sky.