Early this morning.
A chilly, foggy mist blankets the sky.
Some cold mornings I wear my brother Greg’s old F-100 Super Sabre flight jacket from the Seventies.
He flew supersonic through the sky in this jacket.
He taught me how to fly in 1978.
We lost him in 1980 while he was piloting a jet.
When I wear his flight jacket I seem to feel his presence.