I am a Pilot.

[Sky 5]

 

A passenger of mine once asked the timing of our landing. Smile hidden by my visor, I bade him count to thirty. As he reached naught, we touched down gently, no rush or hark of pace. Sprinting off, rifle shoulder-slung, he queried how I knew. I smiled then, and on his return, I spoke of my view.

You see, quoth I;

Death is a matter of mathematics. It screeches down at you from dirty white nothingness, your life a question of velocity and altitude, with allowances for wind and the quick, relentless pull of gravity. Or else it lies concealed in that fleecy, peaceful puff of cloud ahead. A streamlined, muttering vulture, waiting to swoop upon you with a rush of steel. Then your chances vary as the curves of your parabolas, your banks, your dives, the scientific soundness of your choice of what to push or pull, and how, and when.

He stopped me then, and queried gruffly, how such things might help me fly.

“You see good sir, I may not shoot, nor mend your broken bones. But as mathematician I come second to none.”

Said I, with a twinkle in my eye.

[CreedJr 385]

Now that my friend is some good rhyming! I might be able to use Photoshop, but I can't rhyme that well!  

[Deluxe 5]

Very beautiful brought a tear to my eye.