With dedication for my foreign friends...
“Dreams don’t disappear, but they also don’t fly, if you don’t give them wings.”
- Pablo Neruda
- Pablo Neruda
The blue pigeon was raised into the air, flying at full speed toward the horizon. Flight pleasure overwhelmed him. From up here, trees, houses, people, seemed much more interesting. The colors were totally different understood. Everything was wonderful.
He realized that moved away from his loft with high speed and his heart began to pounding. Then he felt something inside, which attracted him back home, as well as the loft would have been a giant magnet that operate on his own frequency. The blue pigeon came back."
He discovered the flock and joined it. He quickly recognized the pigeons. Most were sons and daughters of him. He had grown all with great love. It was a true delight to be able to fly with them.
He would not leave for anything the place, where he had grown up, generation after generation, his offspring.
Something made him flinch, as though a memory, somewhere in the depths of his soul, would have wanted to get out to the surface. He did not want to think there. Now he was flying and that was the most important thing.
The flight was always his dream. He remembered the moment when he saw, for the first time, the light of the day. He remembered the joy of flight from the eyes of his parents. They were Racing Pigeons.
He realized that moved away from his loft with high speed and his heart began to pounding. Then he felt something inside, which attracted him back home, as well as the loft would have been a giant magnet that operate on his own frequency. The blue pigeon came back."
He discovered the flock and joined it. He quickly recognized the pigeons. Most were sons and daughters of him. He had grown all with great love. It was a true delight to be able to fly with them.
He would not leave for anything the place, where he had grown up, generation after generation, his offspring.
Something made him flinch, as though a memory, somewhere in the depths of his soul, would have wanted to get out to the surface. He did not want to think there. Now he was flying and that was the most important thing.
The flight was always his dream. He remembered the moment when he saw, for the first time, the light of the day. He remembered the joy of flight from the eyes of his parents. They were Racing Pigeons.
He felt as strongly pulled down. He opened his eyes and saw the wall of the loft. That wall which define the limits of his freedom. It was all just a dream, a dream that he wished to be without end.
He was a Breeder Pigeon, and he has long been accustomed to this idea. He will never be able to fly beyond this wall.
But in his heart, he hopes that a day will come when this wall will disappear.
Who knows? Maybe when he will be old enough, and his master will no longer need him, he will be released.
Will be him able to fly then? Even once...
Or maybe in another life...
He was a Breeder Pigeon, and he has long been accustomed to this idea. He will never be able to fly beyond this wall.
But in his heart, he hopes that a day will come when this wall will disappear.
Who knows? Maybe when he will be old enough, and his master will no longer need him, he will be released.
Will be him able to fly then? Even once...
Or maybe in another life...
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