SIGNS
“If you can’t fly, run. If you can’t run, walk. If you can’t walk, crawl. But by all means, keep moving.” Dr. Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr.
As I fly, spirit burns power within me. In the current I move quickly with grace. As it is for the dove hawk, the wind’s flow is natural power. Agility comes with ease.
My sinew and bone have no weight. I am my lightest self. Soaring, all obstacles apparent, vision is without end, only an ever-changing horizon. The way is lit with gold fire. My past is etched faintly with clouds, like words penned in frosted glass.
I run the earthly path, feet landing with ancient rhythms of the hunt. The soil feels and carefully holds the pressure of both deliberate and unsure footsteps. Signs easy to see, and others that call out for my attention, show ways available. I leap over stones through crunchy leaves, following pathways worn and newly born.
Flitting from limb to branch as the dust trails behind, the cardinal’s red tail feathers lead the way.
I pivot suddenly, toes spinning circles in the dirt at a hairpin turn in the path. A wooden sign points the way into town. The mist of the glen rises.
My light green shirt clings dark with exertion, damp with dusk chill. Cool air meets hungry breath, and my chest makes way for my heart’s heavy beat. The air is weighty from toil.
I veer into town. I see kitchen lights like fireflies quickly flicked on one after the other. Homes are planted row after row.
The sun, with her last grand broad strokes of the evening cast trees, town, and my eyes in hues of gold, green, and orange. She wraps up her last touches on earthly canvas. Purples and blues rise from the deep to meet and give rest.
I slow down; my aching body is begging me to stop. In a small clearing, an open park bench awaits. It is well seasoned; its newness peppered grey from salty rain.
I see it is built with skilled hands from trees chosen to fulfill its purpose; it was made for three old friends, one friend to sit on my right, another on my left, and me in the middle with smiling eyes. I recollect many places I have rested; my heart and mind slow.
This body, heavy from the run, stretches its legs the entire length of the bench, feet propped beyond bench’s edge. I slide the flask out from my bag, and sip slow water from cold red metal. I rest my head, nestle my neck against arms and back, and begin to dream.
As I dream, bright laughter of children plays like music, and grandmother’s words whisper in my ear. My eyes are shut, natural light no longer visible. She presses a stone into my palm.
Under protection and close watch of moonlight, my mind and body repair. The cardinal takes one more long look before folding back into the woods.
Spirit weaves together things I saw on my journey and others I glimpsed but did not see. Smooth currents of layered winds, horizons, cracking of trodden branches on the trail, faces along the way, and the reasons for it all.
The beginning, the finish, and everything in between are present here, raw materials for Imagination to nimbly work magic.
Imagination looms throughout the night, plucking stardust from the loft as it creates. Hints and symbols are sewn with imagery as I slumber.
My sinews bind back together; the spine of my book is cinched. My bones rest. Like the nimble work of the spider I passed in the shadowy forest, similar alterations are actively at work within me.
The story of yesterday is being woven again, and the tale of tomorrow is forming. When the sun rises, I may lift into flight, run, walk, or crawl.
The wise man taught to keep moving no matter the method. I remember the signs. I remember my dreams. I remember colors of the canvas and know the palette is beyond measure.
I thank those who looked after me, and I remember that whether in air, on earth, lit by sun, soulfire, kitchen lights, or moonlight, I am the observer.
I move now however I choose, however I am able. I know how miraculous and magical a gift this is, and give thanks to all the signs along the way, past and future.
Head bowed, chin tucked against my chest at the start of this new day, my eyes fold briefly once more. I kneel deeply into the earth, wink a mischievous wink, breathe, and resume the journey.
