I am so wrapped up in the exhilaration of flight that I'm almost late for my church's Easter service. I fly through the front door into the foyer, catching mystified looks from the ushers. (To them, I appear to be upside-down. Also, I'm flying.) I float up to the balcony and sit down (or up) in the far back corner of the ceiling. (I don't want to be a distraction.) I look down at everybody in their bright Easter Sunday clothes, their combed hair and their white dresses, and I listen to them sing hymns at the top of their lungs. This is so beautiful I almost want to cry.

I slip out of the church through the steeple window and point my flying blanket straight at the sun. With a huge smile and soaring spirit, I strain my thoughts and launch toward it like a missile. Birds dive out of the way. I pass an airliner and the passengers gape at me through their windows. After a few minutes I am flying so fast that my face smears back and flaps comically in the wind. Even at this speed it's going to take me a while, but I I'm almost there.

The End