The Flight of the Wingless.

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At the edge of a vertical cliff,
She stands tall,
Wind playing havoc with her hair,
Arms outstretched,
Emotions tugging, pulling, wrenching.
A whirlpool.
There is a strange serenity, dead calm, before
A violent storm.
A lone eagle circles over head,
Below abyss.
Inflating the lungs and arching her back,
Scents of earth,
A part of her now, conversed.
Yearning lust.
Adrenaline, burning vehemence,
She longed.
She faces her fate, bold.
A smirk,
As if laughing at its face. Steadily,
A deep breath.
On her toes now, inclining,
She jumps!
Plummeting, the wind screams for her,
Ecstasy.
The eagle eyes her curiously,
Falling still,
The sun burns in protest.
A little further,
Mimicking a statue in mid air,
Almost there,
And behold! She soars!
Above the eagle, above the clouds,
Serenity.
At peace.
At last.

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