We are a little crazier now, and less sober, and some joy has risen out of us . . . it was so glad to be gone . . .
When it noticed the sober watcher no longer was holding its leg, it flew–
It is not in the mountains nor the marshes, it has sent itself to be with the Holy One who is alone.
Don’t look here and there in the house, it belongs to air, it is made of air, and it has gone into air.
This joy is a white hawk that belongs to Gawain’s master; it belongs to him and has gone to him.
(based on poetry of Rumi)