February 7, 2013 19 Comments
Beyond these hills in a darkening sky
the wind blows in a gust of stars
and I dream of flying, stepping off
this plinth of stone, to stretch my wings
and fly like the birds do, in wind and sun,
over earth and trees. I searched for this
wild place, became its guardian, watched
it change as I changed, my legs, my arms,
my face; I looked upon them like they were new
to me, all the cracks and storm-blown bits.
And as I stand alone among these empty hours,
I wait for sunrise, the shaft of orange light
that brought me warmth and hope
before I heard the music and entered fire.
Copyright @Louise Hastings 2013