The following is a snippet from my writing journal. I wrote it while walking home from class one day when I was attending University of Maryland College Park.
“I want to be a bird!” she cried. “A seabird! A seagull!”
She stretched her arms out and ran. She ran with abandon, down the field, in no particular direction — just straight ahead of her.
As she ran she changed. Subtly. Slowly. She changed into the form of a bird. But the change was so natural, so languorous, that you could not say at which moment she ceased being human and started being a bird.
At that moment, whenever that was, she shrank to the size of a bird.
She soared around the field, shouting with her avian vocal chords the joy of her human soul, expressing the elation of her momentary freedom from gravity.
When she was done, she landed at my feet, and spent from her exhilarated flight, went to sleep.
In moments, she had faded back into her original form, and the muscles on her face expressed the relaxation of true inner peace.