Often I spend so long worrying about the branch under me breaking. I forget that I have wings. So often it seems I’ve forgotten I found my way to that branch on my own. Too often I peck at myself, picking feather after feather from my body. So often I forget their slender, soft beauty. Often I watch the other birds flying higher above me. I often forget I am in the sky too.
My eyes narrow on the scene below; watching with a jealous hunger.
Feather by feather I pull, mutilating, picking apart my body. This one clearly is far too small. This one for sure is much too big. Never satisfied.
Often an entire day goes by with my mind tumbling over into a scattered pile of thoughts, only to fall apart again once together.
Too often my heart bleeds for the sadness within the world around me. Too often I forget to let my own heart breathe.
My eyes narrow on the scene above; watching with a jealous hunger.
If only I could fly as the others so easily do.
Leaves swaying heavily as the branch shifts. I tremble. I shake with anxiety. Fate is creeping closer about to catch me within its frozen grasp. My lungs fill with air, my throat with sound. A panicked plea echo’s for help.
Don’t let me fall.
My eyes search with a begging like never before. Death will consume me without a rescue. Breathing quickens with sharpness then halting to a sudden stop.
The branch breaks. Where are they. No one is there to catch me. Falling, spiraling and tumbling downward with the earth rotating too fast.
White silken feathers though scarce on my wings embrace the cool air as it brushes tenderly. Wider they stretch now open with confidence. No more falling.
In the bright morning sky she soars with elegance. The shine of her body reflects the sunlight; a picture of beauty. She flies with grace.
All it takes is one branch to break. One world to crumble and crash.
Often I forget my own strength. Too often I must fall to learn I can fly. So often our magnificence is blind only to our eyes.