Hawks

Surely, you too have longed for this -- to pour yourself out on the rising circles of the air to ride, unthinking, on the flesh of emptiness. Can you claim, in your civilized life, that you have never leaned toward the headlong dive, the snap of bones, the chance to be so terrible, so free from evil, beyond choice? The air that they are riding is the same breath as your own. How could you not remember? That same swift stillness binds your cells in balance, rushes through the pulsing circles of your blood. Each breath proclaims it -- the flash of feathers, the chance to rest on such a muscled quietness, to be in that fierce presence, wholly wind, wholly wild. - Lynn Ungar

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