She was honked at. On her way across the Stray this morning, she was honked at.
Deep in thought, she turned in the direction of the milky sky and immediately left the shadows of her mind. Flying in the wander of v-shape, a skein of Canada geese began calling.
Swerving low above the mass of green they undulated like a giant Mexican wave. One, in the lead, seemed to falter and drop, flapping frantically to join the back. What a wander of creation that thirty aviators spoke of one adventure across her morning sky.
With their distinctive black heads, long necks and white throat patch they were a captivating procession she longed to follow; to fly away from place and time; to be lifted skyward in an act of legitimate unloosening; to seek the company of avatars. She was a floundering soul clinging to the tail.
Lost in nature’s artistry the fly-by lifted her from her tarmac path into lemon swirls and powder blue; a daydream illuminating beauty and truth; her dreary path altered by the wild, calling her heavenward.
Closing her eyes, breathing deep and clear she pushed herself from the pull of melancholy and abandoned herself to the air. Her broken body fell away like snow flakes and smiling, she drifted weightlessly, letting go.
Finding a warm breeze, she surrendered to the melody of the air and rising into purity and soaring over insanity she gave herself to the God of the sky. The thermal flurry raised her into extravagant exoneration, releasing her from her own storms. A breath of light softened her soul as fear faded from within.
The white wisps of cloud stroked her face and fingers and bathed her in a warm breath where she began her search across a landscape of longing.
The faded green and burnt umber of trees sheeting the earth, sentinels shielding an endangered and disfigured sphere were voiceless in the face of thieves.
Soaring over wild blue, deep and dark, nodding to the Albatros and the migrating gannet searching for food to sustain their journey, pods of humpbacks looked lost in an ocean once benevolent with life, now virulent with pontoons of coloured plastic.
Reaching the edge of the orb once topped with fields of ice, rivers ran; splitting fissures were dumping ice walls, shrinking a land mass for perplexed arctic predators.
Fires raged in the unbearable heat of man-made hell as he razed the home of the innocent, betraying the lives of those he was tasked to care for.
The mountains cried out, moaning the ravishing of earth; screaming through the rotating tornados that tore up and spewed out all from the crime scene of the surface.
Destroying forces were warring against Beauty and She seemed powerless beneath their dark mass.
Who will save the innocent from the mechanical beast? Who will clear the oceans and skies? Who will cool Mother Earth from her rage?
She swooped down from the sky burdened by the spirit of destruction, only to see a tiny pink and white striped crocus raise its open mouth, a cry to the Giver of Life.