An invitation to fly

I’m one of those people who always get to the airport early, several hours before takeoff. No fear of flying underlies this haste of mine. I like airports, and I always feel free when I’m in one, knowing that before long I’m going to take wing like a bird, soar to the heights, look down my nose on everything, and lose myself above the clouds. Knowing this further fuels my excitement. I hurry up and check my luggage and go through passport control. Anybody who saw me would think I was running away from something. But in my case it isn’t running away from something but rather getting to something. As soon as the passport police give me my exit stamp and hand back my passport, I feel lighter, liberated, free of all worries. I race to a place, a bar for example, from which the runway is visible, and take a seat. From now on it’s dream time. If it’s beginning to get dark, the two tiny lights on the front of a landing plane will be visible—a little like a falling star.