To Fly, To Land

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Where do we rest? And land?
Do we soften into our surrounds
The way a few pieces of wood,
Lovingly brought to size
And placed in the new garden
to make a walking path,
Which at first tremble and shake
Under our own hesitant steps,
Soon meld into the ground,
Become stitched to the fabric
Of both Earth and time,
So that we, too, may walk
With the strident ease
Of an eagle soaring in the sky?
Do we land with the determination
Of a moth arriving at the light,
Of a fly buzzing at the table,
Where there is a grain of sugar
To sustain and entertain it?
Do we, like the butterfly,
Flit, and fly, almost as though
Stopping to rest and feed
Is an afterthought in a life
Defined by agility, grace,
And an absence of the burdens
Laid upon us by our gravity?
But to see, to witness
The path of the butterfly
As she dances, floats, sways,
And finally chooses
Her sacred place of landing,
To approach as quietly as possible,
So as not to disturb a moment
So rare it must be filled
With the deepest significance,
To take in the velvet intricacies,
The colours richer than gems,
Is to know: no landing is forever,
And might only be a moment,
But how incredibly sweet it is.
 
– Tammy Takahashi
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