Sunday Scribblings: Wings
..........Wings
Damp, sticky, fragile, as I try to unfold them. Untried, and with no quality-control stamp to say ‘Yes, they will hold you’, I still have no option once I’ve shed my cocoon, once I’ve struggled free of the hard binding in which I have rested, no option but to shake those wings, shake them and allow them to be caught by the air; shake them, allow the breeze to catch them, to catch me, and to fly.
These wings are the object of the struggle, the object of the time within, the goal towards which I have been striving, for which I have yearned. With them, I have become at last the Me I was destined to become – a creature of wild nature, unbound and free. My pleasure is in the sighs that people pass as I flit by. ‘Butterfly’, they might say, ‘the first of the year’. I know there are people whose souls lift at the sight of me. That is why I take such joy in my dance. That is part of why I allow a rising draft to carry me in a spiral of delight. My wings give wings to others. My beauty is not something I can see, but it is given to me in the shining eyes of those who watch me. My wings are my delight, as much as they are yours.
Damp, sticky, fragile, as I try to unfold them. Untried, and with no quality-control stamp to say ‘Yes, they will hold you’, I still have no option once I’ve shed my cocoon, once I’ve struggled free of the hard binding in which I have rested, no option but to shake those wings, shake them and allow them to be caught by the air; shake them, allow the breeze to catch them, to catch me, and to fly.
These wings are the object of the struggle, the object of the time within, the goal towards which I have been striving, for which I have yearned. With them, I have become at last the Me I was destined to become – a creature of wild nature, unbound and free. My pleasure is in the sighs that people pass as I flit by. ‘Butterfly’, they might say, ‘the first of the year’. I know there are people whose souls lift at the sight of me. That is why I take such joy in my dance. That is part of why I allow a rising draft to carry me in a spiral of delight. My wings give wings to others. My beauty is not something I can see, but it is given to me in the shining eyes of those who watch me. My wings are my delight, as much as they are yours.
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More 'wings' will be found at Sunday Scribblings
Labels: SoulCollage, Sunday Scribbling.
posted by GreenishLady @ 9:08 pm
9 Comments:
Lovely - I always love to see the first butterfly of the year!
I loved this from the butterfly's point of view! They do give us pleasure, don't they? I know I would never try and catch them as a little child- it made me so sad to see them shut up inside jars...
You did a wonderful job becoming a butterfly. Lovely!
Love butterflies. And this scribbling is excellent!
Marvelous post. We love to see you flying over the fields!
I love the perspective of this piece. What a lovely thought to think the butterfly enjoys our sighs and the joy in our eyes. I had one pose for my camera the other day - I had to use the zoom to get close enough - but it stayed still enough for me to capture it and now I have a whole new perspective - perhaps that butterfly was just enjoying my delight.
Thank you for the uplift with your word wings!
This post gave wings to my heart - thank you, Imelda. This is beautiful.
I love butterflies - and this is such a great evocation of what they are all about. A good simile for a life-stance too.
What a magical post. I love your idea here. And it shows that any creature can have a voice in good writing! I want to know what more this butterfly has to say.
:)
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