But as she changed, so did I. This time spent quietly together had become more important than any number of moments of swooping and soaring. I remembered now, with shame, the envy that I had felt when I had seen them so happy.

    Part of me wanted him to return to ease her sadness - but I also now wanted her for my own. My greatest fear was that she would never come again to our spot; our spot now, not theirs. But to be able to talk to her I had to give up flying. I loved flying - almost more than existence itself.

And, anyway, it might not work. What if she did not want to know me. What if the memory of her departed lover was too strong and she did not want me to hold her, be with her and make her happy. 

    To give up flying for such a slim opportunity was a very great risk and I was not sure I was brave enough. Long days came and went and I still could not decide.

    Then, again the pattern was broken.

    Watching her one day as she gazed into a clump of grass, I sensed that we were no longer alone. Another had come to join us. His anguish sent me spinning out of control across the moorland and resisted my return with a wall of almost impenetrable pain.

    His force was strong and he coveted the place where the lady visited. But he was not willing to wait and watch. Repeatedly he railed against her with his feelings and then fell back in dark disappointment when she did not respond. I had to tell him that communication was only one way, that those that can fly cannot be seen or be felt by those that they watch.

    At last, in desperation, he let me come close and we talked. He told me he must get through to her, that he could not bear to be apart, how afraid he was she would stop visiting. He told me of his love for the lady, how they would spend time together and then return to their families. How they had vowed to love for ever, quietly and passionately. To keep secret these pearl bright moments of their lives and not harm others close to them.

    I learned of their life away from the glade, of the day they went to the restaurant and ate oysters. I learned where she liked to be touched and of their dreams of time together in a cottage with trailing flowers around the door.

    But I also learned of the day when still tingling with warm sensations of brief moments together, he forgot to slow at a sharp corner. I felt too the scorching flames that engulfed him in the twisted wreckage. I felt the searing pain that he suffered in those moments and discovered it was nothing compared to the agony of being separated from his lady.

    Our talk seemed to comfort him and time flowed fast past us like the rivers between the moorland pastures and the winds that buffeted the trees on stormy nights.

    His descriptions were vivid and fresh and soon I found myself relating how I too had come to this place.

    But slowly his force was fading and I realized that he would soon lose his power to fly. Each time we met and waited for his lover, he seemed a little further away and less in touch.

    He felt it too but didn't complain. He seemed to know that he had a journey to make and as time passed became more ready to go. Perhaps her memory of him was dimming, losing its hold. Perhaps he began to understand that reality for him was soon to be elsewhere.

    And as his presence faded, I knew mine was fading too. But my journey would take me along the other path. The pull from my home came ever more strongly. 

    I was sad to find myself spending less time in the quiet glade dappled with sunlight, listening to the brook, watching the birds, smelling the damp earth. 

    The home to which I returned was busy with people who tended me, talked to me, fed me but expected no reply. It was sparkling with cleanliness, with the buzz of voices, hum of machines and artificial smells.

    In my heart, I knew then that the decision was made and I would relinquish the joys of flying. I allowed my eyes to open and my ears to hear. I listened to their gasps of relief and saw their happiness.

    And so it happened that one day I found myself seated on "Hilda and Jack's" bench which I had passed by so many times. It had taken time for my body to heal and more time to identify the glade. Beside me was a lady whose name I knew but could not say.

    In me a breathlessness that was nothing to do with my weakness after so many months.

    Slowly, we began to talk. First I of the times I had come to this glade and of how it was for me a special place. She was surprised that we had not met before but I offered no explanation.

    She talked of the story I knew already. Then, feeling comfort in each others company, we agreed to return at a common time. We kept our promise and slowly I could feel her confidence grow. Gradually came friendship. 

    Still I held back, not sure whether to tell her how I first came to know of her. And, although we had things in common and found pleasure in each other's company, the bright spark of intimacy that I had sought and for which I had returned remained unkindled. 

    One day, when we were sitting on that bench she told me of a thought that had come to her and which had brought her comfort.

    In her minds eye, her lover had appeared and begged her to return home. But he also told her of a man who had once been deep in a coma and had only recovered consciousness after finding a special reason for living.

    She turned to me with a new light of understanding shining brightly in her eyes and slowly her lips sought mine. At last I felt the true lingering sensation of her kiss. The joys of flying and floating free with the clouds at last crystallized into forgotten memories.

    Her warmth radiated through every part of me and I felt the bright light of hope burning again.

    Yet, from her tender words and slow gentle smile, I knew it was also a kiss of farewell.

    We held on to each other tightly, not wanting to be the first to let go. Then, with love's glow still inside us, parted back to the embrace of our families.

    Now, after many years and with family grown and flown, there comes a moment in every day when those memories of floating free as thistledown call me. Soon I know the warm glow will fade completely and I will again be flying free - forever.