Ultralights, powered parachutes, and powered para-gliders are popular, and they look like a good time, but I make myself remember the old saying about mountain climbers. They get way up there, where they can hear the wind whistle through the holes in their head. I don't like ladders, either, but they are a necessary evil. Anyhow, this powered parachute has been flying from a neighbor's place, and yesterday there was a friend flying another machine as they toured the the neighborhood.
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The small airfield at which I landed was deserted. The soft evening wind, the scent of the alfalfa, the fading grasp of the sun slipping into night. Ah, a true pause of time and space in remembrance that all is right in the world.
BAM!
The quiet of that serene moment rudely torn asunder by two airborne lawmowers circling like angry hornets looking for their victim. Straight away I resented them their brutal intrusion to ravage my every sense. They are not aviators, they loft upon billowing sheets. Take your noise and hastily depart.
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