28th December, 2012.
Tower East was breathing softly that day – trees holding the wind, the
ridge stretched out like a familiar sentence we’d read many times
before.
Spikey had already claimed the forest as his morning victory. A slow,
satisfied walk between trees, nose full of stories we’d never
understand. But the moment Avi lifted off, something shifted in him.
The walk ended. The duty began.
He ran the ridge like a metronome of concern — eyes snapping from Avi
in the air to me on the ground. Back and forth. Back and forth. A
small body carrying a very serious responsibility.
There were looks too. Sharp ones. Almost offended. As if to say, Why
are you laughing? Why aren’t you worried? This is flying.
In his mind, Spikey was the CFI that day.
No license. No radio. Just instinct and loyalty.
He kept watch until Avi top-landed — only then did his shoulders drop,
his job momentarily complete.
I took off later.
By then, the ridge felt lighter.
The air kinder.
Supervision approved.
Those were easy, breezy days.
So much fun. So much heart. So much sky.
