Dreams of Flying


I used to dream of flying
With no warning my feet would drift off the concrete
Sometimes effortless
Sometimes straining
Like swimming through air
I would watch the grass disappear beneath my feet
And begin to soar

Tumbling through hoary limbs and dancing leaves
Skimming the tree tops
In my dream, I was never surprised
I knew, in my secret self, that I was always meant to fly
In my dream I was simply being who I was meant to be

I no longer remember my dreams
Or, if I do, they are muddled messes
Not worth considering
Or worth retaining
Where no hint of soaring
Intrudes upon staid and mundane puzzles
Involving forgotten deadlines
Or articles dropped just beyond my reach
Where I awaken with a hazy, unrecalled after-taste
Slightly disturbing
But easily put aside
In favor of the reality of a new day

Maybe, as my life proceeds
I will again find my way
Back to the dreams of my youth
Where flying is a given
And getting from here to there
Is not even close to a straight line
Rather, it involves a slow loop around the eagle’s nest
Followed by a victory roll

 …and I awaken with a smile



2 thoughts on “Dreams of Flying

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