To be a bird, wind holding steadfast outstretched wings,
Is an intensity that goes a little something like this…
The world before me, an arrogant haphazard spinning jewel.
Adorned with rivers distant, glinting bright,
Threading like roots that reach coquettish towards churning seas.
Cities rudely interrupting the patchwork tablecloths of rumpled aged land.
Bewildering blocks of stone amidst ever increasing spikes of steel.
Here and there our forests and crags speak humble, although yet lofty.
It is beautiful, all the contrast, all the pleasant alongside the stark.
No order to it; a thrown together kingdom of let’s just wait and see what lives.
Survives. Grows. Dies. Falls.
But there is joy to be had up here, let me tell you.
To swoop and roll and surf the great wide powder blue.
To see my mate arrive to play, seducing her with my kill,
Dropped from a height, to her beneath.
So agile, fearsome, swift, yet strong; so motherly when the season comes.
Just as the everchanging wide expanse is, through which we cleanly slice.
Sunsets painting our upturned wings in their florid hues.
Hailstones pelting all around.
Shimmering suns of summer evoking that sticky heated haze.
Imparting stillness upon both land and sky.
Bringing ice melts, crops, migration, drought.
Still I am drawn without relent; I am meant to be here, aloft, free,
Neither flame can die.
Both my loves, encircling me, my bones so hollow yet full.
Can you hear my call on the wind as I glide and revel in my fortune?
Embracing all that is as I soar.
Right there,
That little dot, above your head, so high.
The watcher.
Where I belong.
Playlist for this Post
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bird_of_prey
http://www.henharrierproject.ie/henharrier.html
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