Sing to me a song ...

[jfs.livejournal.com]

Sing to me a song of the sky, oh my brothers and sisters.

Sing loud, sing hard of the joy of the wind and the rain and the sun and the ease and the rest.

Sing sweetly of sunshine. Tell me of the warmth on the back as you soar above the clouds. Remind me that as you swoop and swarm you stretch out to touch perfection. Play games and recount them to me in stacatto syllables; who could fly fastest, furthest, highest, lowest. Who banked east, then west, who looped until the world became irrelevant to gravity and the sky was the sea and the sea was the sky.

Fly above the weather, my siblings. Tell me of racing the clouds to shelter. Remind me of the rain which tries to batter you to the ground, and the savage joy of reaching sanctuary, bruised, soaked, dripping but defiant. Look at those around you and recount the stories of lightning and storms, of pressure and of perils, of flying in fog and mist with the rain droplets weighing down your wings.

Sit on the highest tree and survey the world. Tell me of the East and the West, and the creatures that spend their dull weary lives in only one place, never knowing the joy of movement. Recount the flight from North to South, chasing the sun as she hides from the cold. Tell me of the hunt and the chase, of the back and the forth.

Sing to me, my brothers and sisters, for my wings are broken, and my feathers bedraggled. Sing, sweet siblings, as I die.

Sing to me a song of the sky.

Sing to me a song.