Monday, February 23, 2009

I'm like a bird.


There were a brief few seconds in time this weekend when I thought I could fly.

I reverted back into my childhood beliefs for a moment, the very ones that once urged me to believe I could climb any tree of any height with the right number of properly placed ladder branches ... the same ones that absolutely stripped fear from my jumping from one group of rocks and across a crevasse to another. For a short while, buoyed by that late afternoon sunshine and in that Colorado thicket, my heart swelled within my chest and left me feeling completely indestructible. And, all at once, I acted on that impulse. I decided to fly.

What came next, I guess, was the dose of reality I hadn't planned on. An arm hit a tree on my way down, a sleeve on my newish thermal was good and ripped and, well, this cat didn't end up quite landing on his feet. Still. I had flown. That was enough for the bloody gashes left in my forearm to make me more happy than sad. Besides, it's nice to have a reminder.

3 comments:

sir mister landlord sir said...

I saw those bloody gashes in the writers' meeting!

jess said...

tell more!

Dainon. said...

There ain't no more, baby. There just ain't.