Supersonic on the tips of bird wings.

I haven't forgotten about you.
I have forgotten what I wanted to say.

I have been to many places this past year. I have traveled more than I have in any other year. I am scheduled to travel even more.
Even when I am at home, I am always traveling. I catch the updrafts of the ridge, and follow the rain back down to the river.
I wonder, if I could travel back in time, would I want to? Oh, of course a part of me says, "Sure, I could change this or that." Then there is a larger part of me that says to leave well enough alone. Permanence has a more valuable lesson than erasing error.
I am traveling while I am waiting. Five years rings in my mind. Five more years. Five years could mean a great disappointment. Five years could be the ultimate light's soft presence. I doubt I will know when and where until it is time.

A robin has chosen to make her nest on the door, amidst a door wreath made of garden hose. Why she has chosen such an awkward spot, I haven't the foggiest. The poor thing scatters at any sight or sound of movement, but yet she has laid a total of three eggs in three days. I wonder why she stays, and what attracted her to begin with. Birds have a strange way of succeeding when there is nothing to claim of victory. For that, I am humbled.