The parachutes are military surplus, giant silken umbrellas with a choice of colors as long as you favor camouflage green. I realize trust is getting into an old beat up airplane with a parachute packed by someone else. I hope they were having a good day.

Used boots from the pile
lace them tight and high my boy
jumping off of tables

Little turtles with our shells upon our backs, training completed and ready to go. Just like jumping off the table, hit and roll, not much to it they comfort us. Oh – and try not to land in the corn field, makes our neighbors mad. The equipment is old and worn, but the people here are proud and have prepared us well.

blue and white Cesna
little airplane tired and worn
one little motor

About five or six of us are in the plane as like the “little engine that could”, she groans to life and rumbles down the runway. Once airborn she transforms into a graceful swan soaring over the countryside. I am the first and at about 3,000 feet the pilot tells me to unlatch the door. Reaching out the door whips up as the wind nearly pulls me out of the plane. I glance back at the pilot and he smiles… Position he yells, and out onto the strut I go, the cold wind howling in my face as I stand, one foot on the strut one up, two hands holding the wing brace ready to push off on his signal.

No graceful exit
from the last safe tiny perch
Not swan, bowling ball

I look up and….

silky brown flower
windblown peaceful drifting day
tasting the silence