On any given tree, there are those who,
like race horses chomping at the bit to run,
are filled with eagerness to soar the instant
they are granted their colored flying suits.
Others wait for just the right blue of sky,
the perfect pitch of the wind, and they fly
in great flocks, like starlings flying over fields
of harvested corn. But a few hold on until
the last, gathering in one more glimpse
of the woods, of the earth, of sky
as long as they can. I would be one of those,
tucking every morsel of it into my heart,
glad for each earth-moment that I got to live,
destined for home now, twirling in joy.