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A field remembers every gust
each blade rehearses surrender
Freedom here is not escape
but the dance of rooted things
The soil accepts its limits
yet offers sky to every stalk
We learn that boundaries
are companions of flight
The wind teaches no ownership
only the joy of motion
The field replies with patience
steadying the horizon
When we stand between them
we feel our own balance
Freedom without anchor drifts
anchor without freedom withers
