The little bird rode the wind, trapeze somersaults and mesmerizing ten point leaps gliding on the surface, like skaters glide on ice.

But once the gust died down, the little bird was earthbound–a tiny creature, vulnerable, bland, and ordinary. There was nothing left but faded memories, repeat playback tracks of days gone by.

Be free little bird, to once again ride the wind. This dead and dusty earth is not your home. You were meant to own the sky.