In those last moments, when you can
feel the ground racing up to catch
you, I don't think you'd notice it. I
think you'd realize your life as a
landscape that you are flying over.
You'd follow a stream of
consciousness that meanders across
the meadows of your youth, so open
and free. And you'd recognize
certain Christmas Eves and mornings
at Grandma's house, with the smell
of fresh bread.
Then you'd see the dirt road you
walked down in childhood turned
into a 6-lane freeway, pushing
powerfully towards the smog and
hurry of your metropolitan career.
By some strange angle of the sun, the
city casts a heavy shadow over the
golden wheat fields. And it scares
Then you realize
You can't actually be flying.
So you stop.
Kevyn Watt lives in British Columbia.