For once I see my home and all those around it, and there is no dead ends.

I sweep down above old man Toms house and nock the chimney from his roof, then soar high into the sky, blocking out his fiery cry.

I sweep above the Church and look down at the bell, even from here, which grave is which I can tell.

I flew to the sky, I flew beyond, I flew fast past my school, drifted over the lake and crashed into a Church a hundred miles from home, but that’s okay. It’s like falling and scraping my knee. I cope and set off again.