“I want to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.”
― Mary Oliver
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the hawk sits in his tree
a massive old snag
here he perches every morning, surveying his domain
he screams a complaint into the air
and then soars
into the sky
toward the sun
wild and free
effortlessly
ah
I would love to soar
to spread my wings
I would love to frolic, to spin and swirl
to feel the incredible lightness of being that comes
from being borne
by the wind of the spirit
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