Pale winds rush ahead through dark ancient tree limbs, steadfast be these roots and boulders beneath my feet.
Changes in time ripple through space as a thrown sparrow learns to fly, I gaze to her as the world peals back at either side.
As she tumbles into the gallows of the world below, so does my heart, for I know the feeling to be harsh and glorious.
Porous is our limited mind, so much so far forgotten, unattainable, lost to mud and salt, the very threads that once bound us.
Evening skies make us small, and the stars make me even smaller.
For, who is to say we are more alive than anything here that grows, who says we’re any different than any petal that wilts.
With every fiber of my being, I truly believe for life as she found the winds and flew.
Me.
