There is nothing that looks like freedom more than a bird in flight. But even they are not free. It is just their mode of transportation. They are subject to prey. They can become sick. They can fly into windows chasing after their own image. They can die from the cold. Maybe true freedom is exercising the right to not be free. To be submissive, not subservient. Freedom is in willingness. Does my being free allow another to their right to be free? Even birds squabble.
My mere appetite
Governs where my feet follow
Tastes change with seasons
dVersepoetspub.com. Today is haibun Monday. 1-3 tight paragraphs of prose ending with w haiku. Today’s host is asking that we write including the word freedom.