joy of flying
To fly with the birds, to reach the sky, soar next to clouds, float in the air. To feel weightless and free, unbound by gravity. To be off the earth for just a few moments, climbing higher, landing momentarily on branches and buildings just to survey everything you left below.
I dream sometimes of flying. When I reach the height I was searching for, when I get to that spot where I can stop reaching and start soaring, that is pure joy. To look down and see all the places I walked, all the places where I was flying too low, to be up so high and realize the hard work it took go get there. And to actually enjoy that moment of free floating, of being one with the birds, instead of wondering when my flight would end or why it happened at all.
Just feel it. Savor the joy. So I can, in my waking world, look at the birds and know what they feel. Free. Weightless. Triumphant.
The joy of flight.