Winged Freedom

I call to the birds.
Those whose wings stretch miles wide
and fly, nobly fly, day to night,
o'er mountains, rivers, nature,
through clean and open skies.
I call, I wish and chase and want,
and hope to join them
and pursue my happiness alongside
those gracious wings, those strong wings
chasing sunsets and catching dreams.
but for now, heavy rainstorms keep me from those birds.
murky waters, sticky and thick of mud
holding me down
pushing me down
so I am lower
farther
hidden away from the birds.
yet I call.
to the birds of a different heavy rain -
a sweeter one
a clearer one
nature's beautiful danger, left unrestrained
with wondrous wrath
seeking to disrupt
the birds' empty path.
to be rid of this mud?
to see sweeter, see clearer?
simply able to follow my own empty path?
I'll always call to the birds.