September is half over. The stark rays of the sun bow to the approach of winter. The earth is spilling her birds southward, and they are going.
During my lunch break, I went outside to gaze into the infinity of sky and the vast lacework of clouds sliding overhead. Even though I could not see them, I knew the mighty raptors were spinning into the thermals on their journey south. I longed to launch into that same sky to rock and circle and glide over all the earth’s problems and disappear to some unseen shore.
I wonder if one of the lesser known reasons birders bolt for the blue on a day like this is not just to see and count and measure wingbeats, but to send ourselves aloft before our own winters set in; and perhaps one day to drop the heavy chains of our bodies and respond to the urge to go…just go.
It’s on days like this that I remember I am not a human being with a spirit, but a spirit in a human body, and that spirit does know what it is to fly.