Waiting To Fly

From his perch in the aspen tree A young goldfinch sings an ancient melody, ‘searching for wings to help me fly through the afternoon sky. Eyes contemplate wisps of cloud floating by.’ Mind clings and grasps. Rainy Mountain blocks my path. Heart has her own task, food comes first. Then thoughts of future or past. I seek guidance, but wait with impatience For the bluebell to blossom. What is this flower’s wisdom? Says Master Hsu, ‘Waiting has it’s virtue.’ Set loose from its cage, The wind blows open a new page.