She was a girl,
an ordinary girl with an ordinary life.
She drew and she danced, and
had birthdays with her friends.
Nothing was really missing
and nothing was really wrong.

Then one day she came upon
a shining pair of white-white wings
so blinding bright
they made her world look dull,
dingy,
grey.

She’d never worn wings before.
Never really missed having wings, either.
But there they were,
and they looked like they just might fit.

Fit they did,
these glowing white wings.
She felt them stretch
across her shoulders,
begging her to fly.
She tested them a bit
and effortlessly
she lifted from the ground,
easy as wishing it so.

With a delighted laugh,
hugging herself,
she marveled at her luck,
that someone would leave these here
—just for her!—

After a few more attempts,
she took them off,
afraid to break them
or wear them thin,
as she was worried
she’d be prone to do.

But all night she could hear them
hum her name softly
from inside the chest she stored them in
atop the feather blankets and pillows,
safe.
She thought about them all night
and all day,
opening the chest to peek that yes,
they’re still there,
disbelieving her luck.

She took them out again
tempted
by the memory of the sound of the wind
and the feel of the lift,
their strong support across her shoulders.

She put them on, thinking,
what will it hurt…

She lifted the wings,
and felt this
turning point
transition
but she didn’t know where,
and didn’t know what,
and the joy the wings gave her
was too much to turn away from.

She soared
high up into the
brilliant summer sky,
better than the warmth
of any promise she’d ever heard,
strong
and fine
and magnificent.

After a time, she landed,
and carefully folded the wings away,
tucking them safely into the chest.
They were the best thing that had ever happened to her,
and with them,
the grey was endurable.
The cheerless clouds were nothing.

…to be continued…