turbulence ovenbird In dreams where I can fly I am denied access to effortless, graceful soaring. Instead, I am forced to flap my arms desperately in air thick and boggy that tries to crush me in an acid embrace. The sky is all wild blueberries and Labrador tea and sundew with verdant jaws at the ready. I am no hawk riding the invisible currents. I am no owl soft and silent and deadly. I am an ungainly fledgling testing myself against the turbulent sky, and losing. At the end of it all I fall to the ground panting and defeated. I dig myself into the yielding earth, let feathers fall from my fingers, and give my sorrow to the soil's keeping. 250418 what's it to you? who go blather from