The Flightless Sparrow

He had no other wish than to spend his days in the open air, he wished he could leave the clustered distractions behind him and find himself in the quiet depths of the Black Forest.

There he would swoop past the threading undergrowth and hover over unexpecting creatures without an effort. He would be perched with another, knees clutched up to his chin, and there they watched the world below them, looking down like a little toy town where nobody could really be suffering or unhappy. Behind them was surging hills of the Nameless and a dried up lake, beyond that was an Egyptian pryamid surrounded by white treacherous thundra, and beyond that was the rest of the world. But would they ever see the rest of the world?

The great white snow-crested Alp-like clouds appeared above him, and as they sailed across the sky, he has been sitting there for hours and realised he has once again fell into those mysterious time holes which exist for the contemplative, as he is now awake and staring at his reality - a cage of family and aviation.

But he was concious that in some strange way he felt that he had been fed, that he had tasted healing waters which left him thirsty for deeper draughts. With a sigh, his inner-self slid back into its hard wrappings, like a cocoon, and waited for his next flight.