Migrate

Who am I to tell him he can't cross the ocean on his own wing, that his million wingbeats aren't his to give to the wind? Am I so certain that the flowers here will be too few for his thirsty tongue? That the trees will pull back their branches from his tired body? What if the flowers have all dried and the trees burned in his home? Or what if he just can't see the borders I’ve made in my mind? And who am I to stop the warm body of this Mother from holding him close when he reaches the shore at the edge of my belief in belonging? _Written April 19 2026 in response to a prompt from Laura Catanzano


How did I miss this?...beautiful imagery!
Beautiful, I’ve always been enamored by hummingbirds. I love how you capture both the wonder of the tiny hummingbird’s vast migration and the deeper question of belonging to a earth that is always changing. 🙏🏼