Choices.

Seeing birds in cages always makes me sad. Heart broken for the wee one that has only ever known the confines of a cage. Its wings bound and limited by the span of its metal bars. Its voice imprisoned by four walls.

Birds are meant to fly. To soar. To sing. To feel the wind and the sun upon their wings.

They are meant to be free, is it not?

Prison of my choice.

Bars of tree trunks, base of the earth, and the sky, the dome above me. This, my dwelling, is the cage of my choosing.

Framed.

Framed.

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2 thoughts on “Choices.

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