The clouds fill the crisp blue sky as fragments of cotton hope. Through them, the sun bestows its morning glory. Under the sky, on the earth, we sit. Our backs lie flat on the reassuring grass. Our hair falls freely beneath our heads. We pinch our knees together and cross our ankles in the form of pretzels. We breathe with the rhyme of the wind, for we trust it comes. We fall in the sway of the trees, for we believe they’ll catch us.
From here, we look to the sky. We look in the sky. We look through the sky. The sky holds clouds; we look not at them. We look at the birds. The birds spread their wings, unforgivingly diving into the breeze. They reveal their entirety. Confidence is beheld in such grace. We wonder, do the birds know they are birds? Do the birds know they can fly? The rest of the world grounds as they soar great heights. The flocks which they fly in; through storms unbreached. The trees they house in, far above us as kings and queens. The feathers they possess, so luscious as art. The way they come to us. The way they journey to new places, uprooting their nests. The way they come back. This is the way of only a bird. We call unto the world and ask, do they know how wonderful they are? If they did, would they have the courage to rise in such greatness, or would they fall, in loathed fear.
We look at the birds in the sky, mesmerized by their manifestations. We see them, and we know. We believe in them. We believe in their wings. We believe in their wonder. We believe in their awe. To everything they are and to everything they aren't, we believe. Our eyes gloat regally upon them. We dare to ask ourselves, who are we? We are who we are. We are made to be us and only us. We were made for greatness. We were made for love. We were made to soar great heights. We were made in beauty ... We are the birds.