Soaring like a bird,
through wind, rain and clouds,
I feel free.
Moving with the breeze,
it takes me higher and higher.

I see below me,
static patches,
squares perfectly shaped,
maintained by those whose lives
match that of the patchwork land.


I cannot land, a bird I am
on the move
with no permanent home.
Tree to tree,
rooftop to rooftop;

I am not static.

Others have taken flight and
have come with me on my journey,
but they did not persist
like I do.
They find their trees,
they find their static land.

Yet, I keep going…

Will my wings tire? I wonder…
Will the wind beneath me ever fail?
Will I ever fall onto a square
patch of land, so perfectly
formed below me?

My journey is not over,
my flight not quite done.
But it doesn’t stop me from asking -

When will I land?

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