Scope of the Sky

I miss the sound of crows in the morning, and the smell of earth by the road. These things remain. I'm the thing that changed. Where, oh where did I go? I don't know when I first cast my eye away from the cloud-brushed and unending sky and found instead trifles. Doing and having. Paying and owing. Going and getting. When did I forget that the whole world is mine, in a place with no place for should and must try.... in the call of the crows, the smell of the earth, and the unending scope of the sky.