The Flying Rake

 

The flying rake,

wind in his tines.

Fall has come

and bids him

Brothers, to arms!

Leaves are falling.

Beat them back!

***

Birds on a Wire

 

I sit with my friends every morning on the wire and feel the breeze envelop me, a game of poise and balance.  We are mostly silent, introspective, thinking survival thoughts but also the occasional existential question flits through.  Why do we fly in the sky?  

From this vantage point I see the people speeding by on the elevated ribbon below, their courses fixed and directional.  Another existential thought or two flies through without lingering.  What is simplicity?  Freedom?  I love this time to sit and think on a wire.

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