JulieAloha

April 4, 2017

I’m grateful for birds, for their beauty and song, for their plumage bright and camouflaged, for their feathers soft and strong. Remnants of the dinosaurs still with us today. Raptors, songbirds, game birds, nesters and burrowers, wild and free or domestic, they intrigue me. True, not all birds are lovely to look at or hear, some are more talon and screech than soft fluffy down. Not all birds even fly, but this is the skill I envy most. I’ve always wanted to fly, to feel the lift and rise into the air, to soar upon unseen updrafts, gliding effortlessly, to bank and drift and revel in the cold heights above warm thermals. I dream of flying, not feathered but wholly as myself, tensing my frame and willing myself to rise up and take to the heavens. It takes effort, concentration, focus and belief, but no pixie dust – in my dreams.

In honor of her birthday this day 1928

Caged Bird

by Maya Angelou

A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky. 

But a bird that stalks 
down his narrow cage 
can seldom see through 
his bars of rage 
his wings are clipped and   
his feet are tied 
so he opens his throat to sing. 

The caged bird sings   
with a fearful trill   
of things unknown   
but longed for still   
and his tune is heard   
on the distant hill   
for the caged bird   
sings of freedom. 

The free bird thinks of another breeze 
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees 
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn 
and he names the sky his own 

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams   
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream   
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied   
so he opens his throat to sing. 

The caged bird sings   
with a fearful trill   
of things unknown   
but longed for still   
and his tune is heard   
on the distant hill   
for the caged bird   
sings of freedom.