A bird, whether it is tied down by a thread or a chain, still cannot fly.
St. John of the Cross
There are days I feel I'm a bird, hopping around on a branch, aching to take to the sky chasing the delectable dreams I see darting around, just out of my reach… But there's something holding me back, tethering me to that branch.
There are days I wonder if perhaps nothing is tying me down after all – I'm just afraid to let go, to leave the safety of the branch, to take that first leap.
There are days I wonder if I've been flying all along, but I've just been too nervous or preoccupied or too busy looking ahead to take a look around, relax, enjoy the scenery and notice how high I've actually flown.
What about you?
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Something happened this week to make me think that even if I'm not actually flying yet, I've at least moved up higher in the tree.
Wolf Pascoe, who chronicles his fatherhood adventures at Just Add Father, honored me yesterday by using a few of my photographs, including the one above, to complement "Number My Days," a very moving post about life, death and fatherhood.
Wolf isn't his real name, by the way. He uses a pen name to protect his family's privacy. (I'm sure my kids wish I'd done the same!)
He also writes about his job under his pen name – he's a doctor. But he's also a published poet/playwright under his real name (whatever that is!)
I can't remember how we bumped into each other in the blogosphere, but even though it would appear we don't have much in common, we've connected through our words and stories. I encourage you to hop over there – he's a very gifted writer!
Thank you, Wolf!
Long Hollow 
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