The Watershed Years

An Eagle Soars When I was young, a boy, in elementary and high school, I had broad wings; I flew like a hawk; High and graceful, gliding, riding all the thermals. I had domain over my territory. Then, came college, I was lost; A round peg in a square hole. Somehow, my wings were clipped; I mostly wandered, like Siddhartha, aimlessly For sixty months; I did not fly; I mostly crawled. Then, I met the love of my life, who told me I could fly; That she had watched me fly, and it was a beautiful sight. Ok, I thought, and I told her I was a sparrow; She told me “no, you are an eagle”. I told her, “Ok, let’s say I’m a robin”; “No”, she said, “you are an eagle.” “Ok, I said, I am a dove;” Again, she told me I flew like an eagle. I agreed, and said I was a hawk; She told me, “no, you are not a hawk; you are an eagle”. Ok, I told her I was an eagle; and, I told her I could fly again; She told me “eagles don’t fly, they soar; Now, soar”.