This bird that I see, wings tight and tummy hungry, some nights it only feels like she is a little bird. Pirched above the rest, she can only dream about the clean air through her newly sprouted feathers. But not yet.
I’ve just found myself on the earth, close enough to smell it. It smells alive! The beautiful earth in my hands, softly it rolls off my palm, between my fingers, it just falls but the earth stopped.
The sun sharply turns the corner, making her tear. Surprised, the brightness was comforting. She could still roll over and the earth was still there, pausing momentarily. The draft was fresh, refreshingly flowing, her spirit soaked it, inhale!
She was unfrightful, flying before she was ready. Graceful, she is. Though her troubles were there, she is strong now.