The children are changing into birds again, and this time I follow. Their wings stretch with a trust in the invisible as if they know it will hold them in ways the tangible cannot. The children and this day at the lake resurrects my own feather-nature. Maybe I am still meant to fly. I hold this moment like a new egg without cracking its shell.

music and sunlight
what the air holds
as it rains

Bio: Kat Lehmann