Free

Sometimes I want to run. Sometimes I want to fly. Sometimes I want to climb a mountain high and yell my voice into the sky. I want to skim across the water letting my fingers feel the sparkling droplets showering me. What I really want is to be free. I want to walk with my head held high, my arms hang loose and my footsteps sure. I want to reach wide with my arms and lift you up and hug you close and swing you round. I want to be that butterfly that gently flies from flower to flower, and barely sits to sip the nectar. I want to test them, the flowers, every one. I want to be free. I want to sing like the little birds and let my tune mingle in, with all the creatures far and near who’s little voices blend. I want to hear my echo bounce from cliff to cliff and around the world to come back to me in muffled waves and greet me like a friend. I love to be above the noise and hear the silence still. Like the rolling hills of Scotland high, the silence greeting me. I’m tempted at the break of dawn, as the mists of night disappear, to open my door and shout, “happy day” to the glow of the rising sun. I wish that every moment here was full of grins and giggles and happy smiles from peaceful faces, wishing me well today. I want to be free. I want my work to be easy and quick. Like a shake of a god-fairy wand. And the place is clean and orderly and we’re ready for lots of fun. I treasure the days when my heart is free and I sing through the morning chores. We dance lightly and happily to the barn and chatter with the hens in the yard. We scatter the corn and gently scold the two who are pecking each other. I am so amazed at the greeting I get, when they run with flapping wings and flying leaps squawking loudly. They come from everywhere, full of excitement to see what we have brought. It is a greeting for me. I love that about them. I’d love to be that free. I love to pick the garden’s fruit and dig them from the ground. It gives so much and for so long before it sleeps again. The weeds grow too and nourish it and bless the ground between. The insects work all summer long and at night they sing their song. I long to be so carefree here. They don’t mind who listens in. They don’t have leaders and don’t organize, they simple lift their song and all together one and all they cheer the garden on. The frogs lay lazy by the pond waiting for food to fly by. They sit so still and for so long they look like they’ve turned to stone. Their tongues so fast you can’t see them grab the fly as it passes by. Sometimes I’d like to tell the world to stop and listen to the earth with me. The roosters sit atop the perch and greet the morning in. They each take turns and crow the very best crow that they can give, then they crow together. The chorus reaches to the sky, they keep on crowing until the sun is high and the mists are gone. They say, “It’s a new day, it’s a new day, wake up everyone.” That’s what they say in the mornings. In the afternoon if the day is long they stand in open space and crow to the clouds as they scurry past, “It’s a great day, it’s a great day, today is a great day.” The cat and the squirrel give such a show in the late afternoon, up and down in the trees and across the grass, they play in the rustling leaves. And sometimes the squirrel is chasing the cat and I laugh at the crazy pair. The ducks waddle from side to side and push the hens out of the way. They open their bills and “Quack, quack, quack,” “Look out!” they say, “We’re coming through.” And the little girl chases the ducks today and makes them mind their manners. She takes a stick and says to them, “This is the way, go home, you great big bullies.” They waddle back home and slide into the pond and “Quack, quack, quack.” The pond is good. I would like to be able to climb like a cat or a squirrel, to be so quick and light. I could swim like a duck in a pond and try to go under but be too light and make the water splash everywhere. To have that grin that the ducks have and look like a silly thing, but be ever so smart, because you know they are. But I wouldn’t want to live with their mess. They can’t fly because they are too big, but they run with wings open wide. The underneath feathers look like angel wings all beautiful, creamy, white. They wear such beautiful clothes and they care for them with pride. I love how they put each feather in place and squeeze the water out. They find a spot where the grass is long and in the weeds they hide. The drake keeps watch as his ducks take naps and rest in the evening sun. I gather the eggs and carry them in my shirt. I’m happy as I walk to the house. I sure am glad that I have a bed and I don’t have to sleep in the weeds. I’m not that fond of the mud and I couldn’t sleep in the trees. I love to listen to the crickets at night and the croaking of toads and frogs. The chorus is loud as the day is done. “It’s been a wonderful day!” they yell. I want to shout to the moon. Like the nearby coyotes howl at night. “It’s been a wonderful day.” I want to be free like that. 

Elizabeth Williams, daily writing exercise, 1,018 words.