It is the migrating season.
I look up and spy a string in the sky...
the end of a balloon? But no,
look closer, and I see bodies separated
by a thin slice of air.
From here, they are just one body.
A long, slow limb that arcs across the sky,
not even the sky, but the cosmos, from that height.
They are traversing more than just this realm.
They are cutting swaths through Spirit.
It strikes me that birds
might never have this vantage point
from which to view themselves.
They might never be able to appreciate
the aesthetic beauty of their form
I wonder if animals feel the same way about us.
Ants, looking up,
must think a lot of a single digit,
the aesthetic possibilities
of a fingertip.
I suppose we are all here for each other.
A bird is not a bird without the
possibility of this arc,
that only the human can see.
We are not who we are until
we are witnessed from a variety
Our curves given form
in relation to sea, sky, animal, plant.