"I felt its urgent demand in the blood. I could hear its call. Its whistling disturbed me by day and it's howl woke me in the night. I heard the drum of the sun. Every path was a calling cadence, the flight of every bird a beckoning, the color of ice and invitation: come. The forest was a fiddler, wickedly good, eyes intense and shining with a fast dance. Every leaf in every breeze was a toe tapping out the same rhythm and every mountaintop lifting out of cloud intrigued my mind., for the wind a the peaks was the flautist, licking his lips, dangerously mesmerizing me with inaudible melodies that I strained to hear, my ears yearning for the horizon of sound. This was the calling, the vehement, irresistible demand of the feral angel - take flight. All that is wild is winged - life, mind and language - and knows the feel of air in the soaring "flight, silhouetted in the primal".
Wild - Jay Griffiths