Who, pray tell, is their predator?….so very hard to tell as little else remains there as I sweep them off into the gravel…bats? other night flying birds? what?
That mystery is the night’s.
And what arose in me from this scene of loss and loveliness on this mesmerized morning was the mystery of wings…ours… and the times when they are stolen.
How many of us have had times in our lives when we felt on top of the world, as if we were flying?… with a new job, a wondrous new lover, exotic travel plans, a glimpse of a rare and wild creature in nature that enlivens us…only to have some other event plunge into our happy high flying reality and in an instant, steal our wings?
While it is true that dismemberment is necessarily a complimentary force for us when we are on an initiatory trajectory, dismemberment by force in a way that takes our physical life, is another matter.
From this doorstep reminder, I am choosing to notice and celebrate my very own translucent wings when they are carrying me in unprecedented moments of extreme presence…. or when I take in the fragrance and delicacy of a flower, or feel a lover’s hands on my skin and my body in response, or the sense of my heart swelling for the excitement of an idea suspended in possibility. In these times I fly and I am absolutely blessed by those abiding wings.
When I am lucky enough to know my wings I want to remember gratitude, for some dark night my wings may be ripped from me again and I disappear into an invisible darkness.
"thank you wings..."