The eagle awoke in flight, fast from landlocked nightmares. Once more, a hallelujah gathers itself, spreading from yawning beak through open eyes into already working wings. Guided by home, the direction of air, another moment's goal breathed in only to be sent away again, as if with an important message to deliver.
At a certain height, every being becomes a sentry. Really soaring now, we create in shadows and yet are no longer subject to them. Only the moon still digs its heels in, and we fly past it, a reflection among reflections, headed to the heights, not as a stranger, but rather like one returning to a long-forgotten second home.