When I was a kid, I used to dream about flying at least twice a week, every week. Not in an airplane, mind you, but in my body. I had different kinds of flying dreams. In some, I would just levitate a few yards into the air, moving sluggishly and feeling an underwater sort of heaviness inside. Others were more magical. I would wait for that just-right gust of wind to hit me and it wou;d take me up, higher and higher like a kite. I would ride it to my destination, and sometimes I could come down and sometimes it carried me where it wanted.

My favorites, though, were the ones in which I would run headlong into the wind and just glide a few feet off the ground. i couldn't always maintain that flight- often I'd frog-swim through the air to try to keep momentum. More times, I would slowly sink and skid to a stop. These seemed like the most realistic of the 3 to me. If I was going to be able to fly, I figured that was pretty much how it would go. I had that dream often enough that looking back on it now, it seems more like a memory of something I actually did. Maybe it is.