Scholz Crisis 2025

 Drones under 250 grams danced through the air like delicate birds, unburdened by the weight of bureaucratic chains. They soared with a grace and liberty that seemed almost enviable, for they required neither registration nor a pilot’s certificate. Yet, even this gilded freedom bore its own invisible shackles.

One must fly them below 400 feet, ensuring they remained within the reassuring embrace of one's sight, never to be lost in the elusive embrace of the clouds. Daylight was their only stage, for the night held mysteries and dangers too profound, too concealed to navigate safely.

The proximity to airports and heliports was a delicate matter. They must keep a respectful distance—five kilometers or more—a testament to their silent acknowledgment of the larger, more imposing aircraft. Certain realms were eternally forbidden: the sacred grounds of national parks, the austere perimeters of military bases, places where their presence would be an unforgivable intrusion.

Privacy was paramount. These mechanical birds mustn’t spy on unsuspecting souls or capture their images without permission. Their flight was to be marked by care, a deliberate avoidance of recklessness, a solemn promise not to endanger life or property.

The weather, ever capricious, was a constant companion to be heeded. The wind and rain could bring them crashing down from their ethereal journey. Wildlife, too, demanded respect—a silent plea to let nature remain undisturbed by their whirring presence.

These were the rules, crafted with the simplicity and clarity of a well-composed symphony. To follow them was to embrace the delicate balance of freedom and responsibility. To ignore them was to invite chaos and consequence, a descent from the elegance of the sky to the harsh realities below.