But underneath the feathers and inside my head, a different story reads...

{The Berlin Glide.}

Dear you,

To outward view, I daresay things look closer to as they ought than they do from within. Daresay I look content. At peace. A tourist in Berlin much like any other. But underneath the feathers and inside my head, a different story reads. I am thinking of all those things I’d like to one day do but fear the clock is against me. My wings take longer to warm up now. Little difference the weather makes to my flap, flap, flap, smooth flight. Thankfully, am something of a terrific belly glider. An orchestra of tiny wheels beneath my frame make this an ease I've been quick to master. Stand too close and you might hear them, the spinning of my tiny wheels that are capable of supporting my black-feathered frame as I roll about the metrop’. I don’t squeak like that man of tin made, but I can make a passer-by curious if I’m not well oiled for the day’s sightseeing activities. Eyebrows rise to meet the hairline above at sounds hard to pinpoint. This is a time-honoured truth. One of many.

Yours rolling freely toward the inevitable end,
X

+ January's beautiful arrival