Wings, Wind, and the Pedals That Set You Free

Today, as I watched the birds fluttering—wings beating so fast you could hardly tell seven from eight—I suddenly saw myself in them.

Like them, I’ve always needed a strong start to rise.

That moment when you must push, struggle, kick off the ground, climb…

Like riding a bicycle: at first, you have to pedal and pedal until—

a moment arrives.

That sweet, magical moment when the ground beneath you begins to glide,

and the bike no longer needs your force to move.

In that moment, you're no longer fighting gravity—

you’re flowing with life itself.

And all you feel is the wind brushing against your face.

This is not just a metaphor for youth and old age.

It’s a daily rhythm.

Morning is for movement and effort.

Night is for quiet reflection—

with a warm herbal tea in hand and your day spread out before you like pages in a book.

Morning, fueled by the promise of evening.

Wings and pedals, yearning for the kiss of the wind.

And if there is pain, it belongs to the early push—

the sacred climb—

before the peaceful ride begins.