Sometimes I envy birds. My dad used to tell me that it’s human to wish for something we don’t have, but he also told me that it’s human to strive for something more.

That’s why humans created surfing. The illusion of flying so that we could keep our hearts in our chest. Riding the spiritual waves has to be equivalent to flying, right?

Right.

But it’s human to strive for something more, isn’t it?

So why couldn’t we aim higher? Instead of being shoved in a cockpit while flying why couldn’t we feel the wind in our faces and the energy that’s inside every living force? Why couldn’t we be part of that force? What makes us so much different than everything else? Why can’t we fly too?

I sighed. Stuck in the metal corn-maze again. Don’t get me wrong, the city is beautiful. Nothing beats it, except maybe a birds-eye view of all the lights and the people and that strange pulse that vibrates around every city. There aren’t any trees to climb here, only staircases. Staircases up and up onto rooftops where there are sometimes flowers and herbs and vines. And birds.

On top of the city with the birds. Not on a plastic board or in a metal container.

In a garden.

That’s my home.

High above the city.