The Bird with the Broken Wing.

Always such a delight,to sit in solitude in the haven that can only ever be mine.
Watching blue skies..watching the clouds reflected on little puddles formed by a leak in the water tank.
A red-eyed pigeon drinks water from it,at a shy distance.I dislike most birds,but am never failed to be completely amazed and wonderstruck by their ability to fly.
It's dusk now,when the birds return home..and there's this strangely beautiful sight that very oft takes place in the vast,open,infine sky over me.A thousand crows swoop in agile circles,almost like a dance.
The pitch black against the blue,always leaves me breathless.They're perfectly outlined figure,the wonders of creation!
Today,though,I notice a little more.I observe there's one birdie with a huge chunk of  of it's pretty wing chipped off,and yet soaring so high.
All of us are like this mighty one,resilient in the end.Always.
Flying,soaring,despite the odds that weigh us down.Towards the end,we might have bits of our souls chipped off,like the wing..missing,irreplacable..filled with the vaccum of hollow pain.There will be fragments of adventourous youth and comforting wisdom and the shadows of dark times.
But,we all will fly.