Fairy shadows in the sky.

If I should grow black wings and fly to ask all that I wondered why, would you give answer or would you lie?

Listen to split. Would you give answer or would you lie?

Listen to spooked.

Stay true. It was tough at home as a kid. Within the four walls of our trailer, Northern Michigan woods,

tough.

Trying to dodge my parents in that tiny space, their anger, their sadness, their rage,

low boil, please remain at a low boil. Keep my head down, down, stay off the way, stay shadows,

stay silent. So, despite the winter cold, I spend long hours in the forest.

Not born to this land.

Not raised here, but I know these trails.

These woods, the creeks, the ponds, the fields, I know them,

because it's better outside freezing.

That is an easy nine-year-old target inside.

I like to imagine that this land knows me,

looks out for me.

One late afternoon, water in the woods, the air snapped from just cold to frigid.

Painful bitter. I pull my hood tight over my head still. Can't go back home, not yet. Keep walking through the snow instead,

head up, looking up. I see the flash of red.

Brilliant crimson, he's hopping from one branch to the other, a cardinal.

Clucking, singing, scolding just because I can't fly. It makes no sense how much he stands out.

Beautiful against this backdrop, so almost silly makes me want to laugh looking up at him.

...