When I was young
The final post no. 23 from the memoirs of Tempest pilot Flt Lt Jack Stafford, DFC, RNZAF
NOW I am an old man, and I love to spend time at the beach. The sun is a delight on my ancient bones. I go into the surf and revel in the delicate taste of the salt. I am invigorated by the crash of the waves and I forget I am old. I leave the water contented, lying on the sands while through my sunglasses I look at the beautiful New Zealand sky.
I see the fluffy little white clouds hanging motionless. High in the air, at the level of those comforting clouds, small specks wheel and drop with effortless ease, playing, lifting, dropping, always in total control, the movements of their wings imperceptible. These are the seabirds, travellers of the oceans. Independently they conduct their lives, independently they die when their time is over.
I watch them, I admire them, and I say to myself: Once, in a glider, I did that. When I was young.
