The urgency to get away has lifted but the stillness is a trap. How many leaves will it take to make it snap? Another winter ahead of me with nowhere to go, just comes to a draw with all that I know. There is little life left for the seeds of today when the soil is nowhere to paint anyway. There is always the moon to look back at me but compared to the sun is blasphemy. Big birds go away, some little ones hide while even littler birds write “here” across the sky. I think I’ll stay to plant a little seed since there is no more sense of urgency.
The Urgency To Fly
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