It was the end of a long day. Finally the kids were in bed. Finally the kitchen was clean. Finally there was some quiet. Finally some time to think about her husband—far away, sitting alert at a Turkish air base because some radicals were holding hostages in Tehran. Finally some time to look around her base quarters in Spain, ponder the events of the day, and feel the loneliness amidst the craziness and exhaustion. She saw a copy of “High Flight”, by John Gillespie Magee, Jr., on the wall—every aviator’s home has it somewhere. And she decided to get out the typewriter, think about her husband flying an F4, and compose a "High Flight" of her own: