This morning as I looked out my window, without my glasses, I could see a figure struggling in the treetop.
Its leafy head and arms were flailing and thrashing. Its fighting comrade was the wind.
I could almost hear it shouting: “I want my freedom.” It was bound together by all the other branches, connected in such a way to make it one.
It still struggled, but its voice became muted with a silent resignation.
It knew that its freedom would tear the tree asunder.
As I put these words together in my head, I began to hear the birds sing.
It felt as if they heard my words.
When I stepped out into the garden the gentle breeze stirred around me.
The cloak of moisture had been blown away. Even the biting bugs were hiding.
They were holding on in shelters, not wanting to travel with the wind.
I stepped back inside to put these words onto paper.
Now, I can clear my head and proceed with my day.
movingforwardslowly 