The whispering hush of the trees above,
Leafy gaps through which the sky watches-
Suspension of steady ground,
Motion, pure motion of leaving the world behind
In a sweep of wind, and scent left lingering,
The dark cascade of my hair trailing behind
In dizzying patterns: echoes of sanctity obscured to the mundane eye
The wind a symphony, I tear across the air;
I glimpse a stationary world; it is only motion and I,
Closer to the branches then swinging down below
A sacred communion with some lost spirit of old,
Behold how we merge! My laughter bubbling forth
As the sun rises on the horizon and the shade above deepens its hue,
A metallic chaffing as I am led off into the air
But it matters not how, what matters
Is leaving it all behind…