She stares at the horizon, a saddened sort of day. Like a crying heart- somber, without words to say. "Is this the world beyond the line? But, I will still sit. The mocking birds will scratch and cry, but I will not run away. I will sit. And I will contemplate. For this is what I was given -a picture- of such bliss." She tilts her head and ruffles her feathers, as the cold breeze passes by. "This is what I was given- wings to cross the sky. But as I crossed and crossed I found, you never feel it fully. The best of beauty, comes from 'dreaming' of it truly. To think, it is much bigger than I could ever dream. For once you have been there, it won't be as great as it may seem. And once you've done it all- well-- what would be left? Nothing to aspire. Nothing to fill despairing depth. This is how I fly. I am soaring right now here. Just staring at the horizon- and dreaming of what cheer, to swim in puddles deep- of orange and yellow shine- to break myself free- and take back my soul full-time.

And to dream
so openly-

is the craziest-

the freest-

...way to be...