THE GIFT

THE GIFT

by Steve Messman

I left the house very early this morning. I had been up for an hour, and it was just now an eye-propping 6:30. My club was sponsoring a chute repack at a church about two hours from my home. The plan was to repack our reserve parachutes until approximately noon. Then we would carpool to some yet undetermined flying site. Which site exactly depended entirely on the accuracy of the local weather forecasts. In truth, where we would ultimately fly made no real difference. Other than the normal monthly meetings, we had not come together as a group in ages. It would be good to fly with real friends again. The winter had been far too long, and airtime for me had come in very short bursts on days that were way too far apart. Today would be a time for stories, a time to renew friendships, a time to fly with someone besides my other great friends, the birds.

My car was headed mostly east, pretty much on autopilot. The rolling hills and the tall, nearly harvestable trees kept the dawn sun at bay, and kept me mostly in shadow during the first part of the trip. As my car continued its apparently predetermined path along the winding road that paralleled the Satsop River, intermittent streaks of shadow and light began to penetrate the early morning mist. Light and shadow alternately bounced off the car and off the retinas of my still-sleepy eyes. The on-and-off bursts of sunlight pounded themselves into my senses, wedging awareness firmly into the forefront of my consciousness--finally. When I topped the ridge, the trees parted, the sky opened above. The azure dome glowed through a veil of morning clouds that would soon be discarded in favor of the rising warmth. To my front laid the entire length of the Chehalis River valley. I couldn’t see the river from my position nearly a mile away, but I could see the fog layer that mirrored the river’s path. I smiled, totally in awe of the coniferous trees that poked their pointed silhouettes above the fog layer, sentinels standing guard against any evil intent on visiting the valley. On the far eastern horizon, I could see huge, billowing clouds building their bulbous pillow tops; nature’s reaction to the warming sun on a crisp, clear morning. One or two cirrus clouds glowed fluorescent pink as they settled in the western sky, disappearing ever so slowly. I smiled. The morning was beautiful. My heart and my spirit felt good.

I began to focus on the “special-ness” of this day that had been given to us. I looked past the obvious beauty, and reflected on the business of the day. This day is ours to be especially safe. It is to be a day of checking things over after long periods of sporadic use by most, or long periods of intensive use by others. It is to be a day of being with friends to help and encourage them to be safe as well. Maybe, it would also be a day of flying. The beauty of this day suddenly struck me as being infinitely more profound than the view that initially greeted my eyes. The fog boundary that snaked its way along the path of the river, the sentinel trees, pink cirrus against a deep blue sky were wonderful beginnings, but were in fact nature’s affirmation that beauty is only skin deep. I realized that the real beauty of this day lies more importantly in how we were going to use it; to be with friends, to pursue our passions, to do it safely. I realized that in fact, this is true of every day. The real beauty of each day lies in how we use it. Today is a precious gift. It has been given to us for only twenty-four hours, then it will be gone forever. Say “Thank you.” Then, use it wisely.