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Minimums

“Minimums”, the onboard computer announces. A couple of hundred feet of air left between runway and plane. For pilots, decision time. Land, or abort, go around. Commit, or not. Kudos to them. They almost always make the right decision. Too often, it feels like my minimums are at 100,000 feet. All the time in the world. And I still get it wrong. And there’s no going around.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018




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Date: 10/19/2018 11:23:00 AM
Nice one! xomo
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Bernard Chan
Date: 10/19/2018 9:28:00 PM
Thank you, Maureen :)
Date: 10/19/2018 2:55:00 AM
A scary thought, if you get the wrong pilot on the wrong day, or a preoccupied pilot who hesitates. I had not really thought about it until now, so thank you for a poem that shakes me up.
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Bernard Chan
Date: 10/19/2018 9:34:00 AM
You're welcome, Caren :) And thank you :)

Book: Shattered Sighs