Gliding just above the aspen thickets, nearly scraping
the huge lava escarpments, I ride this exquisite dream hawk
for all it's worth. Then dipping and hovering as the
kestrel, I am soaring with the updraft to where the air
thins, I'm faint, and the world below is somehow irrelevant.
I can even see my bed below where I lay dreaming.
Strange how I got up here in the first place: propelling
myself upward by kicking my legs and suddenly I'm about
ten feet off the ground, feeling curiously free, and then
no longer needing to kick but instead glide, soar, hover. I like
my height about tree-level and prefer gliding. Normally,
I tend to get queasy and fear falling at the upper heights.
But this time, in this dream, I am brave, choosing to challenge the
clouds and with no fear whatsoever I "loose the surly bonds".
a hawk spirals down