One feels the need for the open country, the crowded city, the mesmeric ocean, or the reclusive mountains at any one point in a life. And as time moves on to an uncertain fate, so does the wandering spirit we give title to as the gypsy, the pilgrim, the bohemian.
Is our faith blind? Maybe, but still allow me to sail to the other shore to live, to learn, to contemplate. And I will be sure not to walk before its time, to only setting forth when the red-tailed hawk appears in the new dawn light with a secret from the sky and calls me on to another home.
© 2015 JC