When was the last time you meandered? Took a wrong turn on purpose just to see what loomed beyond — a tableau of tall trees, a deserted stone building, a parade of cars?
While biking with Steve and the twins a few weeks ago we stumbled upon an airfield tucked away at Cherry Creek State Park. Steve found it first and we followed, happening upon several grown men flying miniature planes. It was the unexpectedness of the discovery that made it so perfect. That we never knew the place existed (and only miles from our home). That men in their fifties, sixties and seventies took such pure, childlike delight in model planes they had built with their own hands. Minutes passed as we watched them tinker and launch planes that veered upwards like rockets, then looped downward, cascading in circles and coming within inches from the ground before soaring high again.
You couldn’t help but fly with them, mapping the tiny planes across the sky.
I have no idea how long we stayed to watch. But I can tell you this: there was nowhere else I wanted to be. Nothing felt more important at that moment than looking at those planes claim a piece of sky.
We left only when the clouds blackened and lightening flickered.
I’m so glad we stopped to look.