Icarus in free fall. I sense a random eddy of air lift momentarily.
But without feathers I cannot remain in flight.
Descending, speed mounts. Air pockets cannot hold me now.
Wax congeals on my arms, leaving imprints of feather shafts.
Waves beneath me are very distinct.
Little white caps grow quickly.
Won't be long now.
No matter--
to soar so close to Helios--
'twas worth it.
I'll not regret the flight for the plummet.
The vantage of the eagle is hardly imaginable
to one confined to earth.
I am Icarus.
I have no regrets.
