Winging Toward Peace

Sometimes a single flight can carry more meaning than the landscape beneath it.
This morning’s mudlark — lifting from foreign sands, gliding toward familiar green, then swept off course by an unexpected breeze — became the quiet messenger behind this piece. Its journey echoed the fragile paths we all take toward understanding, toward apology, toward peace.
What followed was a poem shaped by wings, weather, and the distant hum of icy choirs.

Winging Toward Peace


Swooping out past the sands of foreign ground
Then flying toward the green, bushy trees
of that once-fabled promised land —
only to be diverted by a bold eastern breeze
that buckled my wings and trembling knees
and sent me falling into the Arctic freeze,
where icy choirs continue the cheers
still singing in the hush of sub‑zero seas

There, huddling inside an iceberg’s solitary marque,
all the compassionate delegates from overseas
gathered to hear pleas for apologies and guarantees
from Greenland’s patient, peaceful trustees.

From foreign sands to frozen seas, the journey ends where quiet voices still know the weight of peace. And so, in Greenland’s calm, the final note on harmonious independence lingers.

Ivor Steven ©  August 2026