Will never forget one Friday night in a Phoenix mall in the early 70s. All the concourses were dark, except for subtly illumined spans of bright colored Dacron, and shadows silently wondering among mammoth pinions interspersed, wingtip to wingtip in this mesmerizing sanctuary of the wind.
That night began my affinity with wings, an affinity that came to an end three months ago as chronicled in this last photo.
But one day I will, in the words of the Psalmist of Israel, “take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea” (Psalms 139:9).
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