dice exercise #9

bird/plane/lightning/question mark/key/bang

Hope is a thing with feathers, they say.  It sings like a bird, it soars and sees the world from on high.  Maybe that's why I've always felt hopeless, the fact that I can't imagine looking down on the world.  My soul has always been a despairing one, peering up from the lowest ground to gaze upon a higher authority.  You'd think, somebody as well-traveled as I would have a downward perspective.  How many plane rides have I taken?  Plenty.  But, as luck would have it, I always fly at night and I sleep, or it's too dark to see the ground.  I've traveled by plane a lot, yes, and by car and bus and train too.  Traveled everywhere in this here land.  There's another quote for you.  This land and more than one or two more.  I can't quite explain why I move so much; I'm not just traveling, I'm moving.  Changing house and home.  It's a split second decision too - one day I'm perfectly happy and the next I'm aching to get somewhere else.  I guess I'm looking for something.  That sounds cliché, doesn't it?  But I think it's true.  I always feel like I'll find some missing piece and I'll finally take root and really settle down.  I'll be the one to hand out wisdom on a plate, in bite-size pieces, whether you want it or not.  And if I never find that perch?  That place in the sun, that garden of dreams.  I guess there's always a way out.  Maybe I have some hope after all, another thing that flies and sings as it whizzes past you, crows and roars in a thunderous voice.  But no feathers.  My hope is as smooth as apple cider whiskey and leaves you just as flat on the floor.