The tip of the iceberg.

It's pleasantly chilly: just enough to keep you awake, but still cold enough to freeze the tips of my fingers. My laptop is warm on my lap, and the birds of summer no longer chatter from their perches. They have already flown to a warmer, calmer place. I wish I could fly along with them. Sometimes I wonder what it would take to be reborn as a bird. It's such a calming thought to think about. What if I was born a bird? What if my arms weren't arms, but wings, allowing me to soar to wherever I wanted? I wouldn't speak words to myself that were unnecessary and unhealthy. I'd sing songs of praise and wonder. I would be free to roam the globe, to reach the corners of the earth rarely touched. I'd love to be a bird. The freedom and carelessness of the idea is what appeals to me. The notion that I could just get up from a situation and move to somewhere else makes me so calm. I wish I could do that.