mystical aerial moments of delight

Yesterday during English class I was a plane. We went outside for exercise and it was just so windy; I was standing there surrounded by the children and had the consuming desire to stick my arms out and make whooshing sounds with my mouth. At first I was just walking, with plane wings for arms, diagonally this way and then diagonally that way. I wove between students who stared at me, perplexed, wondering why their teacher was suddenly completely bananapants insane.

Then two students stuck their arms out and started following me, and we chased after a boy in a little line of planes. We chased him until he tripped on a tree root and fell down. "Yes!" I shouted, "we got him." A few more joined our line of planes because now we were chasing people, and then some students turned into fighter jets and attacked us from all sides. I haven't run in probably three years, but as a whooshing plane I ran around the grass field, leading a troop of little whooshing planes, deflecting fighter jets and chasing boys until they tripped and fell down.

We were all planes until the bell rang; then we went inside and laughed on the way up the stairs because when was the last time anybody was a plane? The wind is a magical thing.

Sometimes I love being a teacher.