The Swallow

This one has grown from a conversation and question game with some friends - and from another conversation with another friend. Sometimes things just stick with me - thoughts - images - ideas - and something beautiful truly rises out of the image stew. So

 

Sitting, gazing, relaxing down in the hallow
overhead-- a flock of swallow

 

Flying from tree to tree
I wonder if they might be
preparing for a trip to San Paulo

 

Where could their wings take them on the morrow?

 

My heart longing to join them for their flight
their wings glossy in the moon light

 

How do they know - what path to follow?

 

They have no map
what guides their quest?

How is it they never doubt their possible success?

 

Onward they fly - straight and sure
away from the path - what about a detour?
in my fear I am want to wallow

 

I should rise up I think
on solid footing I walk
no greatness shall come hiding behind the weeping willow.

 

Strong like an oak tree
that is the way to be
Tall and proud as a redwood

 

No need to shrink and wither.

 

For onward they fly the brave swallow
confident that on the morrow--
they will find the sun in San Paulo.