Be the Bird, Be the Key

Inspiration. Product to come. For now:


Little bird have you got a key?
Unlock the lock inside of me
Where will you go?
Keep yourself afloat
Feeling old until the wings unfolded
Caught me a long wind
Where will we go?
Keep ourselves afloat

I caught a long wind
A long life wind
I got to know the sky
But it didn’t know me
Got to see the light
And land on top of the sea
And be the bird, be the key
And now the current tells
What the wave withheld
And then the lightning say
Oh where light will lay
Where will you go?
Keep yourself afloat

I caught a long wind
A long life wind
Like a swallow
A night owl
A little chickadee
Sad sparrow
Good morning bird
Good nightingale
I took a deep breath
And caught a long wind

Her cutting clear blue eyes peered out her bedroom window, fingers tight, gripping the sill, toes just touching the vibrant pink shag carpet waiting beneath to catch the souls of her little feet. The screen pressed against her cheek as she craned her head to the left. A slight breeze energizes her blonde hair around her shoulders and face and forces a scrunching of her nose to happen so as not to use the hands so willfully keeping her hung from this white wooden frame to the outside world.
Only mere metal and glass keep her from the height of a great cherry tree in front of her. The chickadees dance around the soft pink blossoms that return the bird movement in their own subtle dance from the moist air gliding by. They give off a fragrance that sticks to the inside of the top of her nose. It's high tones open her airways but still are solid in their depth and bring this little scoundrel to a place of calm. She allows her eyes to take in all the sights in front of her now. The birds have become boring and the land below looks as if colour is oozing up from the center of the earth. The tones are strong and vibrant. The dew soaked ground is aching for sun from the afternoon rays. Those naive blue eyes graze over the yard that she knows as her kingdom. All the paths she has laid out, the half finished house she built and holds resentment for, the forest area she calls home, and this cherry tree brimming with what look like overweight black and white mice with wings and beaks. They flutter in front of her, flaunting their freedom in the brilliant and gentle colour of the flowers that bring her peace in her childlike thoughts of wondering.
Little did she know the crisp blue of her iris would slowly fold, in time, into a ring of dark grey, stark in its contrast, to a deep but soft blue that gives way to flecks of prairie gold and earth green.

I caught a long wind
A long life wind
Like a swallow
A night owl
A little chickadee
Sad sparrow
Good morning bird
Good nightingale
I took a deep breath
And caught a long wind


M.