Love Story: In The Web of Life by Ken Renshaw (snow like ashes TXT) 📕

ear protecting earmuffs. His face was wrinkled and driedlike an old man, from years of living in the desert. He greeted mewith a big smile but without a comment on my plight, pretending hecouldn't converse with his ear protectors. He drew the tow cablefrom the reel in Pawnee out to its one hundred and fifty-footlength and then handed the end to me. I latched it in the tow hookon the bow of the glider, gave it a jerk to make sure it waslatched. He gave me a silent thumbs up and walked back to thePawnee.

When we were both strapped into our cockpits,and I had gone through my brief checklist I gave him a thumbs–up.He started the engine, edged the tow plane forward until the towlie was taut and waited for my signal. I moved the rudder fromside–to–side, the signal that I was ready to go. We accelerated,and in about one–hundred feet I was airborne, flying a few inchesabove the ground, waiting until the Pawnee reached flying speed.Then, the Pawnee rocked back, and started a steep climb. I pulledback on the stick and followed him as we climbed a few hundred feetand started a gentle turn toward CrystalAire.

I felt relieved. This little hot, sweaty,thirsty, and disappointing incident was over.

At altitude, I relaxed a little bit and startedto think about my contact, if that is the applicable term, withUriel. 'Maybe I am going to have to take some time off from flyinguntil I get this sorted out. Light flashes and hallucinations mayindicate some sort of neurological problem or a brain tumor. I'llmake an appointment with a neurologist and maybe get an MRI to besure. Flying is unforgiving of pilot error. I can't afford anylapses in judgment. What else was there to know about space andtime? Hadn't all that been worked out by science?'

After I landed and rolled to my sailplane'sparking spot, I got out, stretched, and began tying the wings down.I heard a cheery voice say, "Welcome back."

It was Tina who handed me a tall, cool can ofCoors, walked over and, gave me a big hug and kiss. She was wearingtennis shoes, tan Bermuda shorts, a white tank top, and a ball capwith her red ponytail sticking out above the back strap. Idelighted in seeing she had nothing on under the tank top. Sheopened her piercing light blue eyes and said, "I heard the towplane come in and knew you were back." She observed, "Is somethingthe matter? Is landing in the desert that serious? I sensesomething else? A big disagreement? Are we O.K?"

"Something strange happened," I said, my armaround her waist. Having her near was making me feelbetter.

We started to walk down the now desertedairfield to the country club trailer park. The airstrip is a milelong, paved for the middle half of its length, the rest is asandstone colored swath bulldozed in the desert, strewn with smallrocks, and bordered by desert chaparral and an occasional Joshuatrees. My desert refuge is next to the airstrip, at the outerboundary of the country club.

"Right after I texted you, I took a nap in theshade of the wing. I was startled by a speck of light in a brokenmason jar that appeared to be talking to me," I saidincredulously.

"A what?" She replied.

I stopped and faced her: "I was taking a napand then I heard a voice. It appeared to come from a broken Masonjar, the kind of garbage you find all over the desert where peoplehave camped." I repeated, "There was abright speck of light in the jar and a voice coming out ofit!"

"You must have been suffering fromdehydration," she said with a laugh. "It takes forty days and fortynights wandering in the desert to get mystical visions." Thenimpishly added, "You have always been a quick study." She looked atme for a long time and then said, "You're serious. This is reallyupsetting you."

"I'm a scientist, a patent attorney. I deal inhard factual physical things. Voices do not come from inanimateobjects. Furthermore, I was seeing specs of light all over theplace as I was landing. This all must be some kind of retinalproblem coupled with a dream during my nap. I'd better see my eyedoctor next week. It must be some kind of eyestrain–related thingexacerbated by flying and the desert heat."

As we continued walking to the trailer, Iexplained, "But It seemed so real. It said its name was Uriel." Irepeated somewhat louder, "There it was, avoice coming from a speck of light. The voice said itwas giving me a message from a group of consciousnesses that is noton this or any other planet. It said it, or they, want me to studysomething about space and time. Why would I want to do that? It wasa crazy experience! It must have been some kind of weirddream."

We walked silently for a while. I kept mydistance, while she glanced at me quizzically. After a very longsilence, she moved beside me, took my hand.

After a while she said, "Long before I knewyou, I had a friend who took me to channeling sessions in NorthHollywood. Have you ever been to one?" She asked, lookingaskance.

Her big blue eyes were open wider than usualwith her eyebrows raised. I knew she believed in all thismetaphysical stuff, but I hesitated to talk to her about it. Shehad learned that it was not a popular topic of conversation withme. This was a no-no place we would not go.

"No, can't say that I have," I said somewhatformally. "I think I need another beer."

She linked her arm with mine and said,"OK."

We walked the rest of the way to the park insilence. Coors therapy and the affection made me begin to feelbetter. We walked up onto the porch of the trailer, and she steeredme to a deck chair.

"Sit here big guy," she said, "Help is on theway."

I drank the second Coors and looked at thedesert while she made a salad for dinner.

CrystalAire is at 3,500 feet on the upslope ofthe San Gabriel Mountains, about a hundred miles north of LA. Frommy trailer porch, I can see fifty-and sometimes a hundred-milesnorth,