Canada is on fire and the air hurts my throat.
A little bird flew away, and looked back as she went.
My heart surged and lurched, daring to pull her back.
Yet, she flew. As she should, as she was always meant to.

Maybe too soon. But not unready.
Maybe scared, just not too scared.
Fear won’t ground a bird as fierce,
The sky is waiting, it’s burning red, beckoning.

I kept the windows up this evenings drive
The sky is burning and the smoke hurts my lungs
I listened to a song about little habits
And thought about all the great migration patterns.

Whales, birds, the sun and moon, and everything in between
We part and return. We fly and we swim.
I know that pain is relative
But beauty lies in starting somethin’ new.

I’ll take care of me.
You take care of you.
We’ll let birds be birds and whales be whales
And we’ll be who we are on this ten-thousand-mile pilgrimage
And we’ll say hello on the other side and maybe somewhere in the middle

Here. Always.