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Hill Fever

I must go up to the hills again, to the lonely hill and the sky,

And all I ask is a soarer and FrSky to steer her by;

The rudder’s kick and the wind’s wail and the white wings shaking,

And shiny clouds on the sky’s face, and updrafts breaking.

I must go down to the field again, to the fragrant outdoor life,

To the lark’s way and the hare’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-flyer,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream of flying ever higher.

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(C) Peter Scott 2022

Last edit 19 June 2022