Longing fingers, sore from clutching airport fence, at last became trembling hands gripping first solo flight controls. New ability didn’t just demonstrate new knowledge. It marked the birth of a sky-creature, sibling of the wind, at home with the clouds. Then, too many days plodded between flights while too few moments raced between propeller’s first and last turns. Continually freshened, joy revealed deeper meaning. Like new love’s desire, flying threatened to fulfill and consume everything at once. The one certainty became that there could never be enough, let alone too much.