My spirit is wild, free, and full of joy.

There are peregrines nesting on the ledge of a city tower block, hunting over a ring road at a hundred miles an hour. Nobody arranged it. The building went up for entirely different reasons and a wild thing looked at it and saw a cliff.

Wildness in a person doesn't need a mountain either. It shows up on whatever ledge it can find in a heavily scheduled week — dancing badly in a kitchen, taking the long way home for no reason, laughing at exactly the wrong moment in a serious meeting.

None of that is a lesser version of the thing. It is how wild things behave in a built environment: not waiting somewhere else for better conditions, but nesting on the twenty-second floor.