I was in a bad mood for a few months. The first nice day out here (a cause for dancing in the streets, except everyone is a Lutheran or a speed freak, so the dancing goes on in basements with foiled windows), I got up off the couch (I love Haven Kimmel) and got on my bike. The first ride since my accident last October. It cheered me up so I headed towards home.
Just a few miles from my house, I see a car parked by a farmer’s field. Next to the car, in the field, is a bright red <em>contraption</em>. Something with a gigantic fan on the back. Three people standing around it. I turn around and park. There’s a middle-aged guy, two young adults and a kid. They’re all grinning at me. Someone tell me it’s a “power parachute” and the next thing I know, the man, the guy and the little girl are flying over the field waving at me. They disappear into the setting sun while I make small talk with the girl, who’s too afraid to fly. My eyes are fixed on the horizon, waiting for them to come back. Ten minutes later, they appear. They look like people sitting in chairs. The engine sounds like a lawnmower. They grin and wave. They go off in the other direction and circle around for another five minutes and then come back for a landing, the rainbow-striped curve of a small parachute flapping to the ground.
The man walks over, grinning.
He’s got a mustache, looks rangy and his teeth are jumbled up, pegging him as a local. I expected some kind of hobbyist with a paunch and muttonchops.
“You wanna go for ride?”
[I would consider this a Sign of God, except God wouldn’t be so perverse that s/he would send me something with a rainbow.]