Monday, February 19, 2007


Seagulls on the breeze. Mt. Trashmore. (Rebel)
(Click to enlarge)
"No bird soars too high, if he soars with his own wings."
~ William Blake (1757-1827)
Seagulls in flight seem suspended and floating against the force of the wind; they almost hover without flapping their wings. What that must feel like, the lift of the air beneath wings, twisting a bit this way and that to maneuver here or there. What a view below; a birds-eye view of the earth to be sure. Do they see the cars as tiny toys and little people as ants scurrying on the streets below as we do at the top of a tall skyscraper looking down? Or can they soar so high that the farmer's fields look like little checkerboards of green, brown and yellow? And how are they able to see the tiniest fish in a vast ocean and be able to dive and pluck it up, squirming in its beak.... lunch? A schizophrenic bird indeed; but this day, only the beautiful and majestic aspect show with glowing white wings and graceful landings.

Poetry in motion.

I wonder...why I wonder?

(end of post)

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