'Tis sweet to dance to violins,
when love and life are fair.
To dance to flutes, to dance to lutes,
is delicate and rare.
But it is not sweet, with nimble feet,
to dance uppon the air.
{OK, so it's from a poem: The Ballad of Reading Goal , but a fitting rebuckle of air-steppers
}
The stars, like dust encircle me
in living mists of light
And all of space I seem to see
in one vast burst of sight
{Another poem, but taken from a Craig-Shaw-Gardener book (ender's game I think)}