The Fledgling              

by Lisa Fields          

               

I flutter aloft

ragged and fast

into the headwind—

seeking my tribe

I alight on false branches

time and again—

join in the chatter

then fall mute

tucked beneath the leaves

to roost alone—

I long

to be enfolded

in that space

of you—

beneath your breath—

until

passing mid-flight

my vision clears—

the emptiness

was never real—

my tribe

are the solitary ones—

on the edge

of bright gatherings

we flicker

and connect

through common spark

then

separate

to nestle

into

peaceful solitude

of velvet night—

alone

* * * * *

Lisa Fields lives in Southwestern New Mexico. Writing poetry expresses her desire to be immersed in a state of balance. Her inspiration comes from the joy of wild places and the challenge to live happily in the domesticated world. She is a contract writer for Quirine Ketterings, Professor of Nutrient Management in Agricultural Systems, Cornell University, Ithaca, NY. In her home state of NY, Lisa served the farming community as an Extension educator for 10 years, and then worked for 10 years as a self-employed advisor.