And then I see a little bird, sparrow or swallow I cannot tell, chasing a hawk through the great blue sky. My eyes are drawn up in amusement as the little one flits and darts, circling the powerful strokes of the bird of prey. Is it a game? Is it an argument? The little one dives straight for the hawk’s head and gets away with a playful peck, and the hawk gives her the eye – annoyance? bemusement? – and shifts his flight path. Still she follows, short wing bursts in contrast to the steady soaring, disappearing now behind the trees. I am laughing at nature’s joke, thankful to be lifted out of my valley into the mirth of the heavens.
I know I am but small, not used to thin air, but oh how I want to follow! Will you let me tag along? Will I ever grow wings big and strong? You turn your eye and laugh, tilt your head and turn into the breeze . . . but you take me into your current and the joke’s on me, for now I am rising on your wings.