by Janice L. Freytag
Maybe birds have their own tales of where they come from, made in the image of the Holy Hoverer who brooded and blew, who rode the wind, then invented wings. See, every sparrow and wren sings, “I am like him!”
Maybe when they gather on certain days, they celebrate the one who took on flesh and feather, descending from the sky to land on a son of earth, one bound to the clay until the day he was lifted up.
Janice L. Freytag currently resides in Souderton, PA, but she has lived and worked in several different countries. She began writing poetry in earnest after returning from a difficult experience in Bosnia. She is an avid gardener and draws much inspiration from her little suburban backyard. In addition to poetry, she has written and directed four children’s musicals.
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