October 20, 2016
Bent, New Mexico
You cannot tell me the raven does not fly for the sheer joy of flight, I will not believe you. What else would it be that sends him tearing into the wind with wings set and tail turned with the effort, his feathers fluttering in the endeavor? There is no room for mistakes but the thrill is worth the risk. I want to fly with him, challenge the breath of the heavens that pushes against his flight, and then turn into the torrent, racing the currents. I am jealous.
How often I have watched him soaring on the thermals and tumbling through the sky. He does acrobatics just for the pure joy of it, and he glories in flight. I have watched him from afar, as he too has watched me. I have lain still on the mountaintop for the pure pleasure of observing him. He has circled above me out of that same fascination.
I would be a raven today, or a hawk, if such were possible. I would fly until my wings ached, and then fly further. I would test my strength as I flew into the wind, and then balance on the wind stream as it carried me further. I will have to settle for being grounded, but so I will try to focus on the same. Flight is like focus; you had best stay on task, and never forget the sheer joy of doing so.