Sunday, February 16, 2014

Horse Feathers

The day is dissolving into that gun metal colored expanse of high desert sky that tugs at the ghost of my teenage heart, creating that ache of hope crashing against the vast expanse of hopelessness. It’s like a stranding in the horse latitudes waiting for winds that never come to give me lift, to move me forward.

Truth is, my feet are cramped from sitting on this same perch for so long, if my cage were opened I don’t know if I could achieve flight. I’ve experienced so many extended landings I’m not even sure what altitude is anymore. I used to crave it, the rush…the heady flutter of wings against the fresh air, the warm light and promise of a new day. I’m not sure where I lost it but circular motion will eventually numb your perspective and that is where I am. I’ve been on this same loop for so long I can ride it with my eyes closed. If I were presented with an opportunity for change, would I even register or would I trudge right by, head down and bit in mouth – each foot in the groove the prior steps made. I wonder.

Yet on days like this if I stop for a moment and consider letting that wispy pin feathered thing called hope to flutter within, I feel the lift and I hear that teenage heart cry out “I still want to fly.” Hope is a powerful thing, you know. Given one open door moment and hope will fledge, taking to the skies – new altitudes, new ideas – she will soar.

Who knows how many more extended landings wait for me. Perhaps I am destined for a plethora of wing snapping crashes before it’s all over but oh, that hope for flight. I still crave it. I still believe it is possible. And I’m asking. Open the cage. Bend the bars a little. Flight feathers….they always grow back.


Peace

Horse Latitudes - latitudes with little wind and warm weather. Supposedly Spanish sailing ships would find themselves becalmed with cargoes of ponies for trade and would end up throwing the horses overboard when fresh water supplies dwindled. There's probably a cool poem in there, or not