Broken Feathers

Broken feathers fall from the sky
We’re looking up and wondering why
Our best and our brightest with courage to spare
Consider the cost and then take to the air
Knowing today could hold a terrible blow
The unforgiving earth is always waiting below
Experience is blank if your answer’s always “no”

A box of hope and balsa wood wings
To let it soar free with no strings
With weeks of care and a critical eye
And days of waiting for slow glue to dry
Delicate wings with gossamer glow
The wind can be a fickle friend you know
But to see it fly you have to let it go

Form and function, an artful machine
With lines and symmetry, balanced and clean
A joy to behold when the work is all through
But outside beckons a huge sky of blue
Wheels lift from the ground on bright wings that gleam
Cleverly outwitting gravity’s scheme
The heart is pounding as reality meets dream

Terminal velocity
Choose your life philosophy
Pull on your boots or just sit in a chair
The thrill of the rush and the depths of despair
Stay on the ground and you may never cry
But God be with those who determine to try
We’d rather die than to miss our chance to fly


(A song written the morning the shuttle Columbia broke up over the western United States. Stunned, I picked up my guitar for a bit of comfort as I stared at the TV. A haunting melody slipped out through my fingers onto the strings. These words came soon after.)