Upon the still winds,
unbound by tether or chain,
the hawk greets the sky,
no master but the moment,
no path but where the breeze calls.
Mountains rise below,
silent watchers of the dawn,
yet they do not hold—
for flight knows no boundary,
and the clouds whisper forward.
Feathers touch the sun,
golden warmth upon the wings,
weightless, without doubt,
trusting only open air,
and the vastness of the now.
No fear of the fall,
for the sky is not a cage,
nor the earth a trap—
to soar is to surrender,
to let go is to be free.
The wind sings its song,
soft and endless in the blue,
carry me with it,
not to flee, but to become
one with the boundless expanse.
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