Tick tock, it’s a clock.
I’m not coming back, I’ve done something so terrible, I’m terrified to speak. But you’d expect that from me, I’m mixed up, I’ll be blunt, now the rain is just washing you out of my hair and out of my mind. Keeping an eye on the world, so many thousands of feet off the ground, I’m over you now, I’m at home in the clouds, towering over your head..
expressive peregrine falcons
(photos by sdwildgene)
Thespian falcon.
#to fly or not to fly—that is the question #whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the gusts and winds of outrageous fortune #or to take wing against a sea of fish and by opposing eat them
TO FLY - TO SWEEP,
NO MORE; AND BY A SWEEP TO SAY WE END
THE HEARTACHE AND THE THOUSAND NATURAL FLOCKS
THAT FISH IS HEIR TO: ‘TIS A CONSUMMATION
DEVOUTLY TO BE WISHED. TO FLY, TO SWEEP;
TO SWEEP, PERCHANCE TO DREAM - AY, THERE’S THE GRUB:
FOR IN THAT SWEEP OF DEATH WHAT STREAMS MAY COMEwhen we have molted off these mortal feathers,
must give us pause. there’s the respect
that makes calamity of so long meals.
for who would bear the winters and famines of time?
th’poacher’s wrong, the large bird’s contumely,
the pangs of despised love, the daylight’s delay,
the insolence of prey, and the spurns that
patient merit of th’unworthy take,
when he himself might his quietus make
with a bare bird claw? who would fardels bear
to squawk and caw under a weary life,
but that the dread of something after food,
the unrelenting hunger, from whose clutches
no hunter returns, puzzles the will.
and makes us rather bear those ills we have
than fly to others we know not of?
thus hunger does make fools of us all.
