Im tired of winter, but its not the snow or the cold that gets t me.

Nor is it the apparent nature of the sun setting as early as 4 oclock, or the darkness it leaves me in, or the personal loneliness the dark so inherently emphasizes in me or my vulnerability to the effects of night and my desire for day.

No its the birds that I miss. They migrate to green fields south of New Zealand, and they leave me and the north for half the year.

I took to my imagination from an early age. It was necessary being that I lived alone with my father. My imagination led me to conversing with the animals we had on the farm. Our pigs, cows, and chickens became my friends and companions. But the birds that flew free from our land grew to be my inspiration. I would watch the birds while playing with my animals, and dream of flying with them. They have the freedom to explore, all while in good company of their V formative flock. Birds and flying were a constant in my life, on my mind and in doodles in the margins of my homework. And that is why I: fly today.