Do I feel pity for them, the ones who languish down below? While I sail the updrafts,
Wings buffeted by opposing winds, they scurry about, these creatures tied by gravity and
Need to Earth’s secure illusion. Would I trade places with them for the prospect of
Lifelong love, slow sex on a rainy day, a five course meal with créme brulee as dessert?
Give up flight and walk on two spindly limbs for the whisper of a lover? I’d miss my wings.
Here’s another take on this by The Bard of Liminga:
Flying seemed like a fine idea, so she stepped onto the balcony and climbed up on the wrought
Iron railing. Too bad, she thought, her wings hadn’t yet come in. Maybe, like wisdom
Teeth there’d be a firm pushing through tender skin as molars tearing gums. A fresh,
Lilac-scented breeze brushed her cheeks, while the warm spring air caressed her bare
Arms. It would be a shame to leave on such a pleasant day. Maybe tomorrow her wings
Would sprout, the skies casting grey instead of blue, the wind full of ragweed causing her to sneeze
Vigorously. Then she would fly away swiftly just to prove she could. Carefully, she
Climbed down and plucked a lilac from a nearby bush. Ignoring the odd tingling between
Her shoulder blades, she tucked the flower behind one ear and slipped inside the French
Doors where beige plush carpeting tickled the bottoms of her bare feet eliciting a giggle.