ornithophilia
wind brushing against my face
far above the fields and farms,
a tapestry of loblolly pines and soybeans,
the fear is gone -
only peace now,
hanging from a kite
a half mile up in the sky;
i wonder what we look like,
my instructor and i,
a strange, two-headed, nylon bird, perhaps,
but the vultures don't seem to mind.
*
it's been almost two years since my first flight
and nothing has ever been the same -
my ears perk when i hear the chattering of sparrows,
my eyes dart to the white flashes of a mockingbird's wing,
and my heart leaps within my chest
when i watch a ringbill glide upon the wind,
her delicate, black-tipped feathers reaching out to touch the sky.
and i feel things i have never felt before,
and the dirt under my feet no longer feels like home -
it's the sky that calls me now.
and i am fascinated
by those who live their lives with wings outstretched,
who hear the same call,
and feel the same wind
rushing softly over them.
*
the distance separating me from the soaring eagle
has been reduced to just the few feet that lie
between me and the northern harrier gliding by.
(© 2012 Cassander)