Careful

The wind is sucking me back.

‘I haven’t landed on the top!’ I thought out to my friend. The Wind Woman was playing in the suddenly powerful air, she was not looking but at my thought she rushed to my face.

“You know what to do” she answered.

She’s right. I do know what to do.

There isn’t time to panic. My heart beat and my breathing are steady, I am calm; a benevolent sunset frames my moment. It is too late to pull enough speed bar to get out front. I am landing on the top and I must do so quickly. I do know what to do.

I focus, keeping my left heel hinged to the speed bar, lightly pressing into it, slowing the backward pull; I have my right foot extended to the ground. I am still moving backwards but I have slowed that significantly by keeping an active angle of attack. The ground comes up to me slowly,

“Don’t pull a turtle” she teases me with an infinitesimally brief picture of a recorded moment of feet going over a head; I remember this, as ever so gently, my toe reaches out to press into the dirt.

Both of my feet touch the ground, my flare is almost non-existent, my elbows are digging into my sides, my hands go up with my wing; I am in torpedo. We dance as we kite, I don’t overly fighting the two inches I am still sliding back. A quick glance up shows a steady wing and reminds me which lines are which.

Turning quickly, I reach up, catch, and pull the B lines behind me. Now I am dragged forward, weeds tug at my ankles and the cloud of dust is almost blinding. I have caught her by surprise and I have my success. I scoop in the lines; they slide hotly into my palms, my fingers, until I reach her and literally kneel down on her, the edges flapping and smacking my face.

The Wind Woman laughs in my ear, “Careful.”

‘I don’t think I want to do that again anytime soon,’ is my hissed retort. Even tamed on the ground, even bunched in a ball, the wing is still trying to re-inflate. I give up on a clean bag and stuff the wing with the harness crammed on top.

“Maybe pay a little more attention then.” She suggested.

I couldn’t help it; I answered her with a weak grin. That would be a good idea.

I finish my pack; I throw it on my shoulders and hike over to the van. At the pickup below, my sister’s tandem went well, my instructor’s and my sweetheart’s eyes were saucers and we ate bread sticks while I wished for a nice glass of champagne.

No worries.