Hang-Gliding - Stuart Price

Eighty pounds of weight on my shoulders as I climb the magical hill,
Rhossili Down on the Gower Peninsula, my fondest memory still.
A vast magnificent expanse of green, erupted at the edge of the sea,
That I would soon be flying over, high on life, smiling, happy and free.

We practically sprinted up the hill in our enthusiasm to leave this world below
With it’s temporary pleasures and sadness, where pain and suffering grow.
But first to assemble this aluminium and sail cloth, earth leaving glider
With Mylar and concealed floating cross tube, to make me fly higher.

At last it is rigged, pip pins, batons and leading edges all pre-flight inspected
Best to take my time with this procedure than have it bitterly regretted.
I’m standing on the edge, fresh breeze in my face, attached to my wing.
A friend holds down the nose, at last he lets go and upwards I zing !

I pull my weight forward to increase airspeed and fly away from the hill
I'm two hundred feet above where I started, how to describe this thrill ?
It's an ecstasy that's legal and completely natural still, this freedom, this oneness
This fountain of natural kindness, that carries me skywards is boundless.

As my wing makes love to the Westerly wind with graceful ease and pleasure
I'm soaring above this world with joy in my heart and moments to treasure.
I'm surrounded by seagulls as I look down at the world with altered perspective
An hour has gone by and I'm joined by my friends, the hang gliding collective.

Dummy dog fights ensue as we stage friendly fights in the sky,
Zooming in and out of clouds with the element of surprise.
Don't let the other guy get a fix on your tail, cos there he could shoot,
To escape I pull my weight forward and dive down a few hundred feet.

I've not made it up, but there's a downside to everything at the age of twenty five,
In the many years since, nothing else has come close to making me feel so alive…..

Stuart Price