Flying and falling


Waiting, tranquil, on the cliff,

ears full of the ocean’s roar

and the swish of the surf,

hands held out

to the falling light.


The red kite drops,

rust wings folded,

into the reeds.

A scream, and the air quivers,

a small death.


Life lingers in the blue air,

but the gull calls,

the seal beckons,

and with the setting sun

I will fly.


Beyond the edge,

beyond the last shores,

into the misty blue,

the last gull soars,

taking my soul home.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

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