Sometimes I can fly

Written at age 17 so very many years ago.

The dawn has broken 

sun lifts his waking head 

pink gives way to crimson 

crimson gives way to yellow 

yellow gives way to gentle blue 

a soft breeze is blowing 

rustling the pine trees 

seas of green washing and whispering 

far down below 

lonely puffs of white 

float lazily across the summer morning sky 

frozen; for now they will hold their stead 

but later will morph into a thousand dreams 

and they seem to be calling to me 

'Come and join us' 

'Come and fly with us' 

As they pass by quietly by. 

I stand in my nest 

shakily lifing my head 

looking at all that I can see 

spreading my wings 

shake shake 

off comes the early dew 

then it happens so 

that the sun lay a loving tendril 

of light upon my feathers 

and the warmth flows into my bones 

fly! 

Fly! 

FLY! 

I can feel the rush of wind 

against my face 

as I rush towards the sun 

up and up my wings take me 

above the tops of the hills below 

higher yet 

higher still 

the morning air warms me and uplifts 

and above the sun I go 

there now 

upon a thermal I ride 

turning slowly 

I am held up by unseen wings 

unseen feathers 

no effort at all 

circling in the deep blue sky 

down below the world spreads out 

like some patchwork nest 

bright colours mark fields of heather 

and bright violet thistle 

stain the side of the cliffs 

my eyes strain in search 

of what I know my instincts to be 

there! 

There! 

THERE! 

I dive down 

almost vertical to the ground 

ground coming faster and larger and looming 

wind whistling in my ears 

the little rabbits scurrying 

dodging this way and that 

no match for my power 

no match for my sharp talons 

easy prey for this bird 

I reach out 

closer and closer 

but not this morning 

I lift my wings up 

and swoop low over the hares 

and cry out loud 

it echoes over the valley 

my screeching call that seems to announce 

that I am the master of the air

--william paris