Where We Might Overlap

That tunic of cloud hung densely, veiling all planes and vertices.
A saturated blue gray tilted more toward flattening white. No angle of lens could lend such precision to form or catch the magnitude.

Child, don't forget how we tracked near the small, quiet, old, and sparsely swift
with wing, tail and quill.

You and I trail across whispered intent, follow likely syncline and marvel that the animal tracks always lead the best route; least effort spent is energy conserved.

For them, energy is hard earned while we have little more skill than desire.

Still, we take pleasure in practicing flight; river far below our four out stretched wings.