Birds

To fly. It is to live.
To see the world above the clouds. It is to breathe.
To have wings. It is to exist.
To let the wind carry you. It is to feel.

And why was it granted only to birds? Do they feel when the winds rush into their feathers, do they breathe as we never will? Are the birds free, eternal? Do they watch us from above and pass judgement like we do when we put ourselves on pedestals and thrones? Birds have never judged. It is in their nature to soar above us all, but never to judge, never to complain, never to kill out of prejudice.

Owls, the messengers of death and the mediators of wisdom. Eagles, the predators with mercy, the all-seeing ones. Hawks, of the Sun. Vultures, the devourers of decay. Before the gods were men, they were birds. And in all their glory, they still soared, unchanging, never judging. Instead of learning from them, we plucked their feathers and cut off their wings and attached it to our crowns and thrones. But the birds still fly, thus still living. They still see the worlds above the clouds; thus still breathing. They still grow wings; thus still existing. They still let the wind carry them; thus still feeling. Feeling what we’ve traded for machines.

It will never be granted to us. We forgot how to soar.

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