Her Sky: A Poem
by Siegfried Danzinger

The wind, delighted, played with her mane;
Together, its many hues ripple and dance

The sun, amused, warmed her coat;
Her feathers embraced its heat

The clouds made way for the ascending blue pegasus
With her came a vibrant, unmistakable streak of color

She was an unstoppable burst of energy
She could have united with the sky itself

It was hers
Belonged to her

There was no starting line
Nowhere she had to go

This wasn't an exhibition;
she was flying for herself

She took in everything that could be taken in
The earth was a far away place

And she was home

She skimmed along the pale sea of cloud
Dipped a hoof into the strange waters

And she dove

Down into the quiet, floating sea
Abandoning the world of blue for one of white

She escaped from the pale;
Thrust into the azure once more

A whole world of color and of life
One without limits and nothing to slow her down

Nothing would stop her but her
Nothing could hold her but doubt

There was a time when she wasn't sure
When something dared to hold her back

But now she owned this moment
Those last few moments before she would fill the sky

Fill it with radiant color
And defy the gravity of all the world below

A ring of myriad hues burst outward
Carried her triumph through the air

She shot back up into the sky;
Never so much as brushing the earth below

All else appeared to slow down
A grateful, delighted heart beat in her chest

Today, if only for a time, this was her sky
Her blue, blue, cloud-littered ocean

The wind, the sun, the clouds
She would borrow them all for a while

A rainbow grinned across the sky
She bathed in its sunlit waters as ships of white sailed through

If the air loved her, it could not be blamed
If the sky missed her after, it was no wonder

If the clouds envied her, it surprised no one
It eyes feel upon her, it was to be expected

A shining, reassuring beam of colored light
On a vast and unequaled canvas

Author's Note

Does it occur to anyone else that the 1,000 word minimum requirement is, well, stupid? That it needlessly interferes with the writing process and potentially forces the writer to artificially extend or water down the content of their story? You can't measure the effort or meaning put into a work by its word count.