Flying is an escape from what is forced upon the soul when, in its eternal infancy, it is too naïve to resist its captors.

A man has imposed a set of regulations upon himself, holding him back from the goals that he is too afraid to reach, but beyond those regulations, beyond the horrible civility which now exists, beyond the predetermined existence which he settles for, is the meaning of life.

He goes to work each morning, sits at a desk, returns e-mails and solves problems, takes three coffee breaks despite the fact that he can't stand the taste of generic, kisses everyone's ass (you never know who they will become!), and leaves through the revolving door only after going around in the circle one too many times.

He is a bird in a cage, but if he leans backward in his chair and tilts his head far enough to the left he is able to see clearly out of the window in his boss's office. Time is short; with people to please, deadlines to meet, but there are days when people are too busy to notice his queer behaviors. He might sit for hours with a cramp in his neck just to catch a glimpse of the outside world.

There is a tree outside that window, and in that tree there lives a bird. This bird is quite extraordinary because of her ability to change from one species to another with each passing day. This is misleading, for in all actuality she is nothing more than a sparrow every day of her life, but I have allowed the man to imagine her as a different bird from day to day in order to suit his present mood. He has taken the liberty himself of turning her into a girl bird, and, going against my better judgment, has fallen madly in love with her over the past few weeks. But, I digress. This bird, a hawk or an eagle, or a raven depending on the day, has become a great source of inspiration to the man, for she is skilled in all of the many disciplines that he has lacked for all his life. She is a wonderful creature, equally gifted in the arts of nest building, bird songing, and feather preening, and is sometimes known to show off by exhibiting her skills in all three disciplines at the same time. She is also a glorious hunter, bringing home a menu with items ranging from the common earthworm to good-sized rodents to the occasional corporate executive. However, of all the things that the man admires about his feathered friend, he is most fond of her ability to fly. Regardless of her species on the given day, she is, he thinks, the most gifted flying creature that has ever been, traveling what he has estimated to be three laps around the globe for every hour he spends in the office, free and true.

The man so admires the flying skills of his bird that he has decided to become her. He, in the midst of one of his chair-leaning, neck-cramping stupors, has decided to retire from his life as a domesticated office pet and offer his soul up to the bird goddess outside "his" window. He will no longer accept the boundaries that he has imposed upon himself, but will instead become the feather-preening, bird-songing, executive-eating, high-flying she-bird that has inspired him for so long.

This is quite the career move for the man, a moment of definite uncertainty, and he cries just to think of what is about to transpire. He cries because he will finally know freedom, and truth, and the feeling of wind blowing his comb-over completely out of place. He cries because he is afraid. The people in his office take no notice of the sky blue tears that slowly drip down his cheeks, but they cannot help but acknowledge his screams when the boss, immersed in a tense call over missing shipments, decides to shut his office door.