Upon flight in my migration to other temperate zones i witness a memory.
We go you see, we clump onto trees in large masses making branches turn into drooping orange arms.
but upon this gliding fluttering air swept journey i recall a time when i had been immersed in the grit, volcanic woody, sooty, moistened, endless brown of the earth.
I was once so plain, singular, lonely even.
with many means to take only small and squirming steps forward. none the less these steps i did indeed take and i took them with as much dignity as i could.
the chrysalis that became
seemed my inevitable construct
as a final adieu to my old friends and foes.
to my old habits, my old likes
one gauzy overlay after another.
i thought " i must be dying"
feelings and thoughts grew less and less frequent.
all the world took a pale shade of ghost through the eyes i no longer have
all there was, was fading
in the cocoon.
as with most grand occasions it began with a feast
by devouring the very life flesh of all that had sustained me, i mustered the strength to fly.
In my flight i could reconnect with the beauty of my secret name.
The shy, quiet breeze was kind.
The faceless mother finally set me free.
From above reborn were the shapes of things, the taste of food and the company of others.
Enlivened like a bolt of lightening cracked in an open field
what a gift
i thought,
a fleeting,
silent,
seemingly effortless
grace.
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