Please breath deeply, down to the belly, and into the space between your shoulder-blades, like your sister taught. Listen very carefully, and feel very calmly, and you will sense the presence of wings sprouting out from just behind your heart. Perhaps they are sinewed and nocturnal, or fluttery and tropical, or white and ethereal. Perhaps they change from day to day; I do not know, but deep, deep in your heart, you already know — It is only a matter of listening.
What sound do your wings make, as you take flight? The engines of imagination are known to sing out like a gospel choir, to growl like a lion cub, to tweet like a bird, or bubble like babbling burble-brook. Each has a nook. As this Earth spins, thermals ignite, and we alight in flight; some are like mystery moths and flippant flames, cartoon wolves and red-dressed dames, hawks and their medieval games; some can spy with eagle’s eyes, soar to after and before, for a chore is not a snore if we admit to adore, if we slip in a secret smile. Remember, you’ll only be here for a while, so let us fly with supreme style, and let us form a squadron, and set off for the sunset.
For we are not done yet.
Recent Comments