Let Your Mind Soar...

One morning, SQUIRREL was sitting in his workshop, reading a letter from his long-dead, Austrian pen-friend, Ludwig Wittgenstein. The Sun shone on the page from its unobstructed position in a cloudless sky.

“Dear SQUIRREL,” the letter read, “I have been meaning to write since we met at the aeronautical centre, all those years ago – your love of aviation makes you a friend of mine.

“But now, my dear SQUIRREL, I must challenge you to not only interest yourself in flying the body, but also in flying the mind. Although I have been dead since 1951, I have been lodging at a quaint inn on the outskirts of a town called Glossop and, if you are available, would very much like it if you could join me this Thursday for tea and a spot of kite flying.”

Well! SQUIRREL was overjoyed but, checking his watch, realised that the day was Thursday and that he had only a matter of hours to make the date.

He was searching for a solution, when his son, Ian Squirrel, barrelled through the door in quite a fluster.

“Hold up, son!” cried the concerned father, jumping from his stool. “What’s the bother?”

“Dad, dad, it’s awful,” said Ian. “I was flying my kite, dad, and suddenly I became distracted by the nature of reality and I lost control. I crashed the damn thing into the Police Station and now the Rozzers are on my tail. Please, help me!”

“Indeed I must! You must fly this place,” said SQUIRREL without thinking. And then he did think.

“Ah,” he mused, “fly.”

In a bushytailed blur, he began to work. He barked short, clear instructions to Ian, who was no stranger around the workshop and soon, to their combined delight and Ian’s great relief, they had built two pairs of wings out of wax, feathers and wood. They helped each other into their flying contraptions, and clambered onto the roof.

“Ready, Ian?”

“Sure thing, dad.”

“Now remember one thing: do not fly too close to the Sun.”

“Why, dad?”

“If you rise too high above the Earth, you will not only lose sight of your goal, but be burned by the heat of the Sun.”

Ian agreed and they set off in the direction of Glossop. But they had not gone ten miles before Ian began to creep higher and higher, eventually flying right out of SQUIRREL’S sight.

“Ian!” called the worried parent. “Come back here!”

A moment later, a flaming ball tumbled from above. He heard Ian yell out in fear.

SQUIRREL’S heart sank as he watched his son plummet to Earth. But then, out of no where, a large box kite cut across his vision and intersected Ian’s fall. The young squirrel bounced on the white canvas – the impact extinguishing the flames – and tumbled the short distance to the soft green hillsides of Glossop.

“Ludwig!”

“Hello, SQUIRREL. I see your son is as keen as Icarus to fly as high as he possibly can: a dangerous, but laudable folly of youth.” He turned to Ian and said; “When we can see what it is we wish to attain, we should strive for it for it is real – the world is everything that is the case. Aspiring to fly is no bad thing, but your mind can soar above the clouds of ignorance without your feet ever leaving the ground.”

Pick up THE HARE newspaper at Night and Day, Bar Centro, Font or Tiger Lounge in Manchester town centre, or the Oakwood in Glossop.

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