The Wing

I’m right on the wing...steel and men lifting me carefully up to the wind and black sky. My eyes catch the faint glimmer of electric lights far below. Sometimes one or two...or the winding constellation of a roadside...and other times great pools of lights all swarm together to bless my eyes with the beauty and horror of their existence. I’m not with them though, and nor am I entirely with the crushing air...I’m somewhere in between, and that happens to be my favorite place to exist: nowhere and everywhere. It is always when I am on the wing that I decide. I am ready to move on now. It’s not a blissful or exciting decision, nor is it dismal or menacing. It’s just a simple glimmer of recognition that I am here and I am ready. The fields and trees and cookie cutter houses and those tiny electric lights all whisper to me “Darling, it is time”...and I answer them with a slow blink of my eyes and a gentle breath. I know. I have a tragic gypsy soul they tell me. The wind beckons and, as a feather, I float shakily off to my next life...the next great path. I’ll never forget my love, but I promise you it is time.