, I was flying a Cessna 152 during my first solo flight sweeping on to final approach in order to land on the kendall-Tamiami Executive Airport. It was the tenth day of September; the year was shown in my gray-white, 200 meters water resistant, G-shock Casio illuminator watch, as the second of this new millennium. My eyes were focused on the black, wide and 5,000 ft. long runway which was standing up in front of me like a enormous and immense Cyclops, with its mandatory white marble marks showing me the way back home. Looking out through my windshield the deep crystal blue reflection of the ocean above me, suggested to my central nervous system and then to my senses, the exquisiteness smooth, sweet and delicious smell of success and fuel; few white cotton flakes faded into a scale of grays stayed neutral, while I was braking up through a sleepy and sedately blow of heaven that was surrounding my humble aircraft. All of a sudden, my sight fall and dived into a sea of greens and browns during the time that titanic, dark, and savages trucks sprayed those extensive, magnificent, abundant, and apparently eternal plains and fields of oranges, with pure, sacred, and crystalline devastating bursts of the most valuable fluid to be found in this celestial body, Gaia. .
When I woke up from that utopian, but necessary fantasy, I dug my vision device into the cockpit instruments of the modest, single engine, dwarfed cockpit, lack of seating, fragile empennage, but always friendly Cessna 152. I checked again the landing configuration with the only purpose of self-confidence and to correct any error on the procedures. Just above a water canal, a check point which was located 500 feet from the beginning of the runway, I completed the penultimate stage on my before landing operation by extending the flaps, using the flaps switch which was installed in the front panel below the co-pilot, black and two-handles yoke.
