The Falcon and the Sea

He soars high, his wings kissed by the gentle breeze that carries him deep into the horizon across the waters, his wings gliding effortlessly upon the dreams of the moment.  Above the lemon sun beams kindly down, its warmth glistening golden off his form and casting below his shadow over the expanse of the hazel colored sea capped by the flecks of silver waves.

The sea always has been there, always has been there even when he did not know or think of its existence; the sea that is always ready to catch him if his wings should fail, for in the end the sea is the true home to which he shall return.

Suddenly, the sun dims, disappears, as does the sky, as do the waves below.  The mist encasing him is cool, damp, pervasive, covering everything with its chill and hiding his path from his eyes.  All is covered by its encumbering blanket, and the beads of its tears drip from his wings.

Yet he flies onward, heedless of any possible doom hidden within the fog.  He flies on because flight is all that he has ever known.  It would be easier for him to cease breathing than it would be for him to give up flight.

Below he hears the song of the sea as its voice cuts through the mist:

I am hear,
I will catch you,
I am here
Because I care…