There are some well advised warnings lately that concern heavy use of technology and its consequences. I am in agreement with using our laptops, tablets, and cellular phones responsibly. I cringe when I see a whole family at a restaurant meal with phones up instead of talking to each other. But I am so thankful for the technology that lets me easily stay in touch with my son and granddaughters who live too far away to visit often. I talk and text with them - not as good as face to face, but truly a good thing. This week I texted photos of some clothes I was planning to get for the girls and was able to get an opinion - most likely more quickly than I would have if we had been out shopping here in Texas. Jeremy is a pilot who travels all over the world. I am thankful for our phone visits!
Maddie, Jeremy, Jordann
Jeremy Teal Parker
I read this poem a long time ago, and found it again this week. It reminded me of the way Jeremy describes flying.
High Flight
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air… .
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air… .
Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
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John McGee, Jr. age 19 - a young Canadian pilot who wrote this in WWII
