Who Will You Be?

MS, lymphedema, and other diseases tie a lot of us down. For me, travel has become something I long to do, but can't. What if you could enter a trance and put your spirit in the body of a plant or animal? What would you choose to be? What freedoms would you claim?

Eyes of the Raptor

In my mind’s eye, I see the tall monolith across the summer meadow.

I run towards it, drawn like iron to a magnet, the dark, red rock.

My feet skim over the meadowland, barely touching;

Wildflowers blur under foot until only their impression remains.

The deep, ember-red rock rushes close to my widening eyes.

Leaping towards the escarpment, I scramble for a handhold, grasping only air.

Exploding through the thinning air, I am atop the towering precipice.

Across the iron plateau, on the verge of nothing, a golden eagle awaits.

Hurled forward in the blink of an eye, I slam into his tufted plumage.

Breathless, I am within.

Launching, we leave the monolithic mesa, shoulders lifting as our wings spread out.

We push against the atmosphere, as solid now as the icy water in the glacial lake below.

Vigilant, we oversee our domain with a sharp bird’s-eye view.

We catch an updraft and spread our iron-sinewed wings;

Hollow bones lifting us, soaring through the heated summer sky.

The sun glints off the deep, blue-black waves below;

A spark that becomes a twinkle in our eyes, a hint of eaglets to come.

Movement at the edge of the dark green forest catches our keen eagle eye.

Focused, we pull our mighty wings tight against our torso.

We dive, silently stalking the marmot in the bear grass below.

Plunging swiftly, we slice through the gusting wind.

Our talons grab the fear-frozen prey. 

Momentum accelerates; our powerful wings driving hard against the whirlwind.

We are the eye of the storm; cyclonic winds whirling off our wingtips.

As we carry the dead weight of the marmot’s limp body,

We scream victorious, the long piercing cry of the sovereign raptor,

Conscious of our dominion over the wild Northern realm.

My mind’s eye closes, and I am lying in the summer meadow.

Wildflowers dance in the hot breeze, casting small shadows on my face.

My heart pounds, I exhale held breath, my lungs expand gulping air.

I open my copper-flecked eyes and wonder –

“Where are my wings?”

© Kit Minden