If I were a bird, one might have called me “on the wing” today. Away from the nest, but settled deep within an urgency to locate a source of food that might nourish my babies. Myself.
I found today’s source of food in the whirring of a stationary bicycle as I crouched over it, urging my legs to go faster, faster. Farther on. Then, there was the scurrying of feet on a treadmill, my eyes watching the counter, tracking the time — interested in the perceived distance traveled while “on the wing.”
It’s interesting how we can travel without actually going anywhere. Skittering. Fluttering. Still not an inch gained by all the activity.
Sometimes I have that sense of movement when I can nearly feel the wind pushing the hair back from my face, but I’ve not even made a step forward. That was today when I bicycled the Alps, then briskly walked through a forest trail. I moved miles away without leaving at all. Amazing.
Amazing.