the migration

Dear birds, ​

You write your answers across the horizon every day, 

letters made of motion sent to anyone willing to look up.

​I read them slowly. ​

You tell me to go when it is time to go.

To hunger honestly.

To bend with what cannot be controlled. 

To rest inside momentum. 

To lead when strength arrives and follow when grace invites.​

You tell me the sky was never owned --

only entered.​

So this is my reply: ​

I am learning.

​One small migration at a time, 

one brave decent,

one soft surrender to wind.​

You teach me that departure is not abandonment--

it is devotion to survival. 

​If someday you see me moving without an apology, 

leaving and arriving with equal reverence

Know that your letter was received,

with gratitude and a heart practicing flight.