I wonder if the falcon knows of his gift of grace. Does he ever just take upon wing for the pure joy of it. He seems only to fly with purpose. He cares not of my envy. Mocking me as he dances with angels. But in my dreams I soar with him among the clouds, the cool breeze on my face as we climb higher. Perhaps one day I will know when I'm in the presence of God. For surely he will grant me this that I've dreamed.