Fear of Flying

Fear of Flying It was a clear, cold day the sun was a sad decoration vanity at its worst. The sky was like after shave lotion with a tinge of blue which stung a shaved face with frosty bitterness. I saw Amelia Earhart´s aircraft disappear in the distance, only a doleful echo told me of a tragedy about to happen… On a lost atoll a bottle of aftershave balm glints in the sun, perhaps belonging to her navigator, as does a diamond earring that shines pitifully on the clarity of gilded sand. Look up on a still, pale day and you will see her little airplane forever disappearing into a hazy past of remembered dreams.