She stands high and beckons for us to land
Sacred grounds
Connecting us deep in the soil
Opening the sky for our wings
Where a feather’s tickle tells all
Upon a breeze where whistling
Comes from the beak of babes
Some of us are closer to transformation
To transition
To escaping our own egg
But we are all on our way
Migrating home again
Some to hang below the flags
With sacrifice and pain
Some to perch safely
Some to preach insanely
But we all find our way back
To sit on her maternal branches
This is my journey
— Nate Long “Owl”
Pen and ink with digital manipulation