The wind is lashing around the earth today. I feel it brings me tastes and scents from exotic places, imaginary worlds. I taste a hint of hot billowing sands scorching from the sun and abrading stones until they are nothing more than sand as well. I feel a rumor of cool, icy mountains against my cheek. A salty sting catches my eye as murmurs of sea shanties vibrate below my hearing. Possibly even a very little stardust tickles my palm invitingly. I watch the Hawk as it struggles, beating its wings furiously against the gale. I can see the anger in its glinting eye. I understand the frustrated cry. She will win. She won’t give up. The Hawk knows nothing of masters and failures. Failure is death. As for masters, she knows only her wings to be master. Master of the sky, master of the clouds, master of the world as she knows it. She braces her wings and fights harder. Harder. Harder. Her body will give out before her heart. Suddenly, exhausted, she misses a beat and drops into a vertiginous fall before her wings open and the wind lifts her up, high, higher than she might have reached on her own. She lets the wind buoy her; no longer does she fight it. Instead she is playing. Playing with the wind. Her cries of frustration and anger welling into happiness, giddiness. The lashing winds no longer sting her eyes and dry her sobbing throat. Instead they feel gentle, guiding. Pushing her higher and farther. The wind is no longer harsh but as protective and strong as a lover. She flees from my sight. I am left, envious, and bitter; the star dust swept away from my skin, the smell of scorching sands gone. To leap from the cliff…would the wind buoy me? Would I finally find my wings and soar across the only heavens I know? Would I play with the wind or would I fight it when fighting is all I know.
Authors blurb: we hurt so badly and it hangs on for so long. It’s not easy to let it go.