. . . have flown

. . . I held the bird in my own hands.  Felt beneath my fingers the eager feathers, the certain strength within. Feeling inside mysef the eager heart, the greedy mind, the glowing prospect of going back to school once more.

With mourners all around me, I — who am no longer mourning —  swung my clasped hands up, jumping a little up onto my toes, watching this feathered hopeful creature take to the sky.

I stood a long moment, with all the other upturned faces, witnessing that lovely bird wing her way unhesitantly home. . . .

.

[story: “FEBRUARY 32, 2011 – the end “]

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