the birds have no place to go
it is not the season for leaving yet
and not the season of coming back
so the birds just hang about and
realize
that they can play
if you've ever seen them divebomb
each other through the thin spray
of a waterfall only to jet straight up
and over again and over again you
know
that they can play
we are in between seasons between
the comings and the goings
the backwards and the forwards
the thens and the nows so when will we
understand
what play is
and play as if our life depended upon it?
