Flight of the Animist

With all of my spirit’s rage;

by will lifted I was.

First as an autumn breeze,

gen­tle and whispering.


Over freshly reaped fields,

lain open by harvest.

Crest­ing the hedgerow,

never paus­ing.


In a black feather I ruffle;

back­wards, twist­ing, inverting.

Full force below,

Where into a wind I do grow.


Rip­ping through boughs;

releas­ing their leaves.

Into a merry dance;

Untamed and wild.


Where I talk to the forest,

and it talks back.

Whisk­ing away!

Over the land.


As every­thing returns

from whence it was born.

My spirit soars faster.

Into a gale I do grow.


I call upon lightning,

clouds and rain.

Where our souls rise together,

as a mighty storm!

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