I wonder some times whether the heavy boots of my thoughts and words, the hard muscle of my fears and the toothy edges of my ambitions are a counter-balance, a reluctant partner to something lighter and looser in me. There’s a thing in me with no name and no roots that hangs and swings this way and that in the breeze. Without these tough boots, my muscles and grit, I wonder if I might just take flight, pull myself up and over the limbs of this life and become nothing more than a whisper, a song of wings.

What, I wonder, is the sound of that song? What might it be like to become partners with the wind, to become everything that whispers my name?

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