Flyaways

Before the spring floods, the shoreline is an uneasy sanctuary.

A hundred small birds will float along the currents above the water, so closely packed that they rise and fall as a single being. The larger ones come in smaller numbers, seldom more than a dozen. They announce their presence far more loudly, manage their spaces more aggressively.

None of them remain for more than a day.

We called them flyaways when I was small.

They were going somewhere, but I saw only the smallest part of their journey.

I remembered them most in motion, heading with unerring certainty to somewhere far beyond my known horizons.

I envied them.

I wanted both the horizons and the certainty.

Mostly, I wanted to fly.

To rise up and vanish as small creatures watched in amazement.

The moment when they disappeared made me want.

I feel the same way sometimes when I read a line that sinks deep or an image that takes my breath.

I can see for a moment possibilities greater than any I could chase.

As I close my eyes, I dream of impossible horizons.

 IMG_1735Sometimes small parts of ourselves can still find a way to fly

I like to try to make impossible horizons possible. Sometimes I succeed.


For impossible horizons made possible, you can also see my fantasy novel,The Guests of Honor. It is available here.

 

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3 thoughts on “Flyaways

    • I’m glad that you enjoyed the photograph! One of the real joys of this blog has been the opportunity it has allowed me to try different things with my photography. I’ve had such fun playing around with capturing images that work with my writing.

      I am honored that you find my writing affecting. While my blog and my book serve different purposes, my one promise to myself when doing this has been to write from a place of personal and emotional honesty. It is a deep pleasure that this has worked for you as well.

      • I do some photography myself but I’m completely hopeless with the technical side of it, haha. I would definitely say that you achieve your goal of writing from a place of honesty. That is the heart and soul of all great writing, I think.

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