Except as noted, all images copyrighted by and should be attributed to E B Hawley.
I had become many eons ago a traveling literary gnome, inquisitive about places I had and had not visited,
walking the same paths of peoples from the past, through places once grand and still grand,
photographing images that now show me the places about which I still dream . . .

Saturday, August 24, 2013

Falls Flyover Sunrise

      The city of Wichita Falls, founded in the late 1800s, has a rich history in aviation. The workforce Sheppard Air Force Base, coming from all over the nation and world, infuses the community with dynamic new culture. In addition, Sheppard collaborates generously with the city in maintaining the municipal airport, soon to become regional airport. A nearby airport, Kickapoo, receives a large number of aircraft daily, from Cubs to Citations, and is the meeting place of the "Ol' Codgers" group of pilots, veterans of past wars, or not, who enjoy talking shop. Hobbyists devoted to aviation hangar their aircraft at Wichita Valley airport. On the edge of Lake Wichita, there lies a runway, now covered with growth, with buildings and hangars at the southwest end, still shown on a sectional as the Tom Danaher airport, where during Tom's younger years pilots would gather every weekend.
      It came as no surprise to me, and I felt charmed by it, that the community in 2007 chose to call the newly-constructed highway ramps "Falls Flyover." Here is an iPhone image I took as we "flew" over one of the ramps. In the background, we see the Attebury grain elevators built in the early Twentieth century by Jack Kemp.

Posted by at

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

Let Lovely Turn of Phrase Begin

JMHawley Gave Me a Kiss to Build a Dream On

Listen, will you? I think that . . . literature, poetry, music and love make the world go round . . . while mathematics explains things; I fill my life with them, then go walking in snowy woods.
Let us go then, you and I
like two etherized patients floating
through life, together feeling prufrockian.
DDB Jr. makes my world go 'round; during his absence, Pachelbel fills it up.
One summer I sailed across the Atlantic Ocean, then through the Gulf of Finland to reach Saint Petersburg; I pursued Joseph Brodsky in its alley ways. I dream of making that two summers.
I read “Biking to Electra;” found my way in a Jaguar car, and glanced at the flashing steel grasshoppers at sunset. I’ll follow K.O.P.’s footsteps after he followed N.Scott Momaday’s; find warmth and inspiration on a rainy mountain.
Throw chinese coins for the I Ching.
Save the whales, the spotted owl, the woman in toil.
Cast a fly for trout; my memories of fly fishing under the sunny blue Colorado sky remain; I yearn to build more . . . with more trophy Browns.
Listen for the swan’s calls on the Baltic Sea. Feel KKII's joy, his arms spread wide in Yazilikaya.
Good night, Jimmy Durante, where ever you are.