Without Wings
Here at the edge of the world
Where the enchanted woods
Hug the crumbling cliffs
Doing the soft slide together
Down onto the beach…
Each visit brings a new landscape.
But the eagle’s roost still stands:
Two white heads
Four yellow eyes.
And vision that pierces
Earthly artifice.
As we pass by
On clumsy feet
Aware of the constraints.
Anchored to the earth
We abdicate the heavens
To our lofty companions,
And humbly move on.
Longing for things
That will never be…
©2018 by Ilona Elliott
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- Posted in: Poems
- Tagged: Bald Eagles, Environmental writing, Poetry, The Beach
Is imagination via painting, art, photography, writing or poetry a form of flight or substitution for wings?
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Good question. Which leads me to this one: would I trade those imaginative pursuits for a real pair of wings? When I’m on the beach watching them, I think I might be willing to do that…
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Fly or breathe water, if you could what would you choose?
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That’s a tough one. I’ve loved whales and sea mammals forever and used to think of how wonderful it would be to be a mermaid. But flying feels like the ultimate freedom, and I could visit my sister across the country alot cheaper and easier! Flying. What about you?
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Flying also but I do love the idea of freedom swimming in a reef
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This is beautiful! ❤
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Thank you Neha! Beautiful places are such an inspiration.
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