airborne ovenbird Despite my name I am not a bird well suited to flight. I am, perhaps, more like a penguin or an emu–I'll take to water or land well before I'll choose the sky. And yet I find myself, once again, strapped into a submarine with wings that travels on atmospheric currents, soaked in the sweat of clouds. On board this craft I am bathed in radio waves that carry my voice from the lower stratosphere back down to earth where I would prefer my feet to be planted. My fear runs laps in my constricted lungs but wonder holds its own: my body is in flight, my words can travel anywhere borne aloft on the backs of sea birds with bodies made of radiation, I can traverse two thousand miles in a mere four hours to a place that holds my past. It's when I get there that my own wings will unfurl, finding freedom in being known, in being held, in being home. 250722 what's it to you? who go blather from