Ground and Sky on Wilden Marsh

Buzzards sweep and wheel above,

carving freedom in a fiery sky.

They see the marsh stretch north to south,

while I stand fixed by sight and sound,

noticing the hidden, the near, the now.

 

A cry drifts down, thin and sharp.

I feel it in my chest:

Yes. You are here. You belong too.

I here, grounded, rooted —

you above, safe and free,

mastering air in ways I cannot.

 

Still, the marsh holds us both

in its pulsing breath,

spread beneath wing.

One soars, one stands,

yet we share its rhythm,

and hear its call.

 

When they drift toward the ridge,

I stay and watch them go,

remembering echoes of soaring wings,

my feet pressed deep into the marsh below.

 

Together we are where we are meant to be:

one free to roam the sky,

one free to walk and creep below —

together, though,

we both belong.