“Summer days like these have a certain quality of timelessness, isn’t it?”
I was sitting on the ground, legs stretched out, looking at small planes waiting for their turn to fly and entertain the large crowd that had gathered. The setting sun cast a golden hue on the hillside houses in the distance. Long shadows spread themselves on the grass, with clear outlines of people standing nearby. A warm breeze was blowing, and above us a plane did a somersault, turned over, and began to fly upside down.
R plucked a blade of grass and looked at me. “Very True” he said, with a grin.
We were in the fields on the edge of Walldorf, surrounded by people gathered this Sunday to watch amateur pilots from nearby towns display their flying skills. A while ago we had returned after a fifteen-minute flight on a Cessna. It was a small four-seater aircraft, one where you placed a foot on the wing to step on board. We flew over Heidelberg, over the castle and the Altstadt and the Neckar running next to it, all these elements appearing like tiny, precise models of their real counterparts.
Presently a family was about to board another plane. They stood by the wing and posed for a photograph, before stepping in. Behind us a merry-go-round turned slowly. Long queues had formed at food stalls along the edge of the field. People sat eating on the tables nearby, and a few clapped occasionally at the announcement of another pilot about to take-off or land.
The shadows grew longer each minute, ticking away the afternoon. Soon it was time to leave.
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