Strong sun. Crowds stir
as engines mount
and fade, snarl and whine.
I wear a short white dress.
I have packed my parachute perfectly.
At the end of the afternoon, Pangborn carries me up,
and I move out onto the wing,
skirt fluttering.
I calculate wind speed,
drop,
and the parachute starts to fill.
I drift down quietly,
slipping the shroud lines
to land precisely on the grass.
The crowd surges forward. The silk canopy
rustles, whispers to those close by me.
I have entered the empire of the air
and returned to them, intact.