Not all moments of wonder are found deep in the wilderness. Sometimes they happen above a parking lot, where nature remembers its freedom.
On the ledge of a strip mall roof,
thin legs balance round white bodies,
each bird a small vessel of patience.
One wingspan apart,
their heads tilt,
their still eyes scanning the air.
Without warning,
they lift their wings like doors swung open,
step into the void,
and let the wind carry them upward
into the deep blue morning.
From here, the parking lot seems small,
and I remember,
even from concrete,
the sky is never far.
Even from a concrete perch, wings still know where the sky is.
