The Winter Flight: Cassandra Kulay

The muse touches upon me lightly
as I chase inspiration in flights of
fantasy, interpreting each dream in
words, my awareness is blanketed
by snow falling, each crystalline
structure unique blending into
sameness, collective consciousness
covering individualities, quietly
embracing trees, buildings, the
ground, gently bonding to shine
white with a frozen gleam of ice,
how nature rests and becomes, a
journey of discovery. I wish I
could drift on the breeze, a
blessed intelligence gifting me to
the world for a season, melting
into the ground when the time comes
for my consciousness to sleep.
Unlike the birds, I would not have to
try to fly and I would not escape
the winter with my wings. I would
hover to listen to Christmas carols
and church bells ringing. The winter
flight through being created to being
to disappearing would be my purpose,
my journey to become one with
everything. I imagine my winter flight
as a brief soliloquy, to play my part
in nature’s game and lend myself
quietly. To float upon the crests
of snow and leap into the air, to
be innately beautiful everywhere.
To collect myself naturally and add
to the gestalt of being, to be not
afraid to fall or melt or make a
scene before the snowfall buries