When I was a kid, I dreamed of sprouting wings and flying. It wasn't until I was thirteen that I finally set foot on an airplane for the first time. As the plane carried me into the sky, my skin tingled with the thrill of being airborne. From high above, I could see the curvature of the earth, the fields spread out below me like a patchwork quilt, the space above the clouds where I sometimes imagined angels dwelled. Flying was as close to an out of body experience I ever imagined I'd have without dying.
Last week we went to Utah to ski - to Alta, Deer Valley and Park City. As I set my skis down in a foot of fresh powder and began my descent down the mountain, once again I experienced that thrilling tingle of my first airplane ride. The snow was a blinding white, the trail a steep vista of moguls. Scared? Yes! But the wind was in my face, the landscape was breathtaking and once again I was flying.
