This morning I watched as a crow took off from the power lines and flew hard, wings pumping, across the street and through the neighbor’s yard before veering up toward the tree tops one street over. He continued up, wings working hard to gain altitude and I watched, curious as to why he was flying so hard and fast. Then he coasted in a long graceful arc and began to pump again until he caught a river of current in the air. Wings outstretched, body tilting side to side, he rode the wind, zooming across the space until within seconds he was out of sight. A moment later, he reappeared to do it all over again. Playing in the wind.
What is it about speed? We strap ourselves into roller coaster cars, we climb to the top of super slides. We jump out of airplanes, wind surf, parasail, all in search of the thrill of speed. Just to feel the wind rushing by us so fast it leaves us breathless, hearts racing, jacked up on adrenaline, wanting to do it again.
We reach our hands out of car windows to play with the wind, to dip our hands into its stream, to feel the power of it against our palms. We turn our faces into the wind blowing in off the ocean.
And how I envied that crow and his ability to just throw himself into the wind, to ride fast and furious across the sky.
Thor sez: Hmmph. I could do that. If I wanted to. But it's naptime.