{Like happens so often, there really is no catagory that fits well the writings I offer, but I am an old man now, soon to be 70. So "mature" is what I use. The year here is from 1965.}
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So many times as a child, then a young man, I walked the few short miles down to the small hill. There was a tall chain link fence at the bottom of the hill, I could have climbed that but I never did.
On the hillside was soft grass, the type that never gets really tall, and it is always green, even in dry periods. I never did know what kind of grass that was, at that very young stage of my life I never even thought of it.
On the other of the tall fence side was pavement, concrete, stretching nearly as far as I could see.
I loved the evenings, the huge airliners came in very low, right over my head. I could feel the blast of air off of them. The roar of the engines made my belly, my ribs vibrate.
I would lie there and try to guess which line on the runway the huge machines were going to land on.
It was like I could nearly reach up and touch them, many times I lay there, my arms outstretched, the roar of the powerful engines filling my ears.
My young head filled with visions of all of those people inside, very few of them with even the slightest knowledge each other.
A collection of souls, all tugged by the trappings of life to one spot, one loading gate, one line, to get on one airplane.
Never knowing really or even thinking about how they were then surrounded by life, by experiences of life that then were transported in mass to another location, and then cast in all directions.
So close, so very close to others, yet often never to pass again. So close to a world of wonder, so close to feelings, emotions, families, lives, jobs, yet knowing none of the world of the others surrounding them.
That thought filled my head as I watched those airplanes land, and take off. It was my fantasy, desire, to fly and be one of them, a part of the solid never ending stream, a flow of souls.
In English class, I wrote a very short poem about it. The teacher liked it, read it before the entire class.
That was the title, "A flow of souls."
{"A young boy I, a grassy bank,
A moment then, with flows of souls,
each passing by, no thought of lives,
surrounded, blended, yet free.
A blink in time, the aircraft rolls,
fed and filled, with that flow of souls.
The passing endless, on and on,
All just pass by, few pause to see."}
I didn't think it was very good but my teacher gave me an "A".
Then came the day I walked through the terminal with my tiny suitcase in one hand, the packet clutched firmly in my other hand, magic. That packet would get me the precious ticket, I was going to get to fly.
I was going to finally know what it was like to blend my life with the moment of so many others.
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"Greetings!" The letter that arrived in the mail had read. My Nation, my Country had called me to a war.
I had no real idea what the war was about, all I knew was that my Nation had told me, rather than asked me to be a part of it.
My life as it was before was lost, now I found myself preparing to board that mix of steel and plastic, aluminum.
It was exciting beyond belief to me.
I was now one of those very same flow of souls that I had sat and watched go by in wonder, so many times as a child.
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The lady at the counter looked at the packet I handed her, then she looked me up and down.
At six feet, three inches I had very long legs. I saw her type something, then she handed me the ticket and smiled.
"The Stewardess will show you how to work the emergency door, I put you there so you will have more room, honey." She grinned at me.
I made the long walk to the numbered area that was on my ticket. No one was there, I was nearly two full hours early.
I sat quietly, watching each person as they arrived and sat waiting. The area was a solid hum of voices, then I heard one lady say that must be our plane and I looked up to see one rolling our way.
I looked out the window of the terminal at the lights of the airport, it was dark outside but the area was lit up as bright as day. I could see the back half of the giant machine I was going to ride in, it was shining in the bright lights.
We all began to board, I was so eager to get on that I was the very first one in line.
Older people, young people, men in suits, women in every stage of normal dress. It was all fascinating.
Then a woman that appeared to be in her 30's came down the aisle, she stopped and looked at me, then at her ticket. I saw her eyes searching for the number.
She was rather short, barely 5 feet tall.
I saw that she was struggling to get her bag up into the overhead compartment, so I stood up and helped her. My own tiny bag sat on the floor between my legs, tucked back out of sight. All that was in it was my razor, toothbrush, and fresh socks and briefs.
