Sunday, July 6, 2014


Severely disabled, bed-bound, 
with no eyes, non-verbal,
locked in his silent inner world,
he is rolled on his wheeled cart,
by his caregiver, 
down to the quay, by the water.
As the wind off the water, salted and tangy,
kicks up a gust and whooshes across his face,
his expression turns blissful.

I have read that eagles, too injured to return to the wild,
kept in cages and compounds in a wildlife refuge,
respond similarly when the winds blow strong.
When the winds off the desert gust and billow,
in their pens and cages 
the eagles all close their eyes. 
They face into the wind
and, together, lift their wings
to ride the currents,
in those moments 
remembering freedom.

So with us, when the temptress wind
blows across the landlocked desert of our hearts,
we close our eyes,
along with the eagles,
and long to fly.


  1. I feel as if eagles are words and through poems they fly miles.

  2. Wonderful, Sherry. I don't think either the eagle or the human loses that desire to 'fly.'

  3. nice...when we lived in MD there was a sanctuary for the hurt birds of prey...i have seen them wings like that...and i am happy for the moment that the man can feel that again himself....very cool capture sherry...

  4. Sherry, this is truly beautiful. Makes me think of my mother-in-law, but ultimately of myself, my old age, and how I will yearn for freedom someday. This is a sad, but beautiful poem.

  5. We long to rise!

    ALOHA from Honolulu
    =^..^= <3

  6. Wonderful comparison, Sherry. It should be a reminder to us to make visits to some we do or do not know who are shut-ins. Until Adi died we would visit assisted living homes and Alzheimer patients. They all loved the beagle dog and opened up to tell of the dogs they once had.

    A few years ago we did a cruise tour, starting in Fairbanks, Alaska, and ending in Vancouver. Until we came to Juno the only eagles we saw were in Sanctuaries. Most of them could never make it out in the free spaces again.

  7. Yes, though some fail to 'take off'. They would like to go through the works again but of feeble ability. They were happy to just experience the 'gust of wind' without the excitement! Nicely Sherry!


  8. Ah, very sad. I saw a young bald eagle today in the country where I live-- beautiful! K.

  9. wow. this is one of my favorites, Sherry. Powerful linkage ~

  10. Yes, I feel and imagine the truth of this. Powerful images and insights, Sherry.

  11. Sherry This is just ....where do I find the words....I'm not sure I know the perfect word....remarkable, striking, notable, noteworthy, marvelous, wonderful, astonishing, fabulous...

    makes me thing of the Hurt Hawks by Robinson Jeffers.

    Hurt Hawks


    The broken pillar of the wing jags from the clotted shoulder,
    The wing trails like a banner in defeat,
    No more to use the sky forever but live with famine
    And pain a few days: cat nor coyote
    Will shorten the week of waiting for death, there is game without talons.
    He stands under the oak-bush and waits
    The lame feet of salvation; at night he remembers freedom
    And flies in a dream, the dawns ruin it.
    He is strong and pain is worse to the strong, incapacity is worse.
    The curs of the day come and torment him
    At distance, no one but death the redeemer will humble that head,
    The intrepid readiness, the terrible eyes.
    The wild God of the world is sometimes merciful to those
    That ask mercy, not often to the arrogant.
    You do not know him, you communal people, or you have forgotten him;
    Intemperate and savage, the hawk remembers him;
    Beautiful and wild, the hawks, and men that are dying, remember him.


    I’d sooner, except the penalties, kill a man than a hawk; but the great redtail
    Had nothing left but unable misery
    From the bones too shattered for mending, the wing that trailed under his talons when he moved.
    We had fed him for six weeks, I gave him freedom,
    He wandered over the foreland hill and returned in the evening, asking for death,
    Not like a beggar, still eyed with the old
    Implacable arrogance. I gave him the lead gift in the twilight. What fell was relaxed,
    Owl-downy, soft feminine feathers; but what
    Soared: the fierce rush: the night-herons by the flooded river cried fear at its rising
    Before it was quite unsheathed from reality.

  12. *closing my eyes and running and swimming and biking and dancing... the latter on high heel shoes*

    Thank you for this, Sherry.

  13. life is rough and sometimes we just need an escape....flying would be an exceptional way!

  14. So true. When I recently visited the bird sanctuary and stopped in front of the avaries, I noticed that the birds looked beyond me to the sky. Growing infirm with old age seems so cruel.

  15. Oh Sherry, you poet, you, what wonderful phrases like
    ...ride the currents,
    in those moments of
    remembered freedom....

    wrapped in a miraculously apt philosophic thought.

  16. We all love to fly high, away from the crowd, in our own sweet world, soaring high and reaching our dreams :-)

  17. Wow. What beautiful comparison you have made here Sherry. Loved the last stanza :)

  18. A poignant write! Thankful for caregiver who wheeled the man to the quay to feel the invigorating wind. Our spirits can soar like eagles.

  19. What fine medicine for the ailing invalid ... and what a great reminder that salvation is here, blowing in the trees, for any who would surrender to it. Great poem, Sherry.

  20. Very moving Sherry ~ I believe with the wind, we will never forget that flight ~ Have a lovely day


  21. Powerful analogy, Sherry! Like the eagle, my we never lose the wish to soar.

  22. …"they face into the wind". Thank you for this very interesting lesson on the eagle.

  23. …and of course, that we too can be saved.


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