all in the wings
echoes in waiting
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Hello. This post is about Death & Birds.
We were stuck in standstill traffic on the M25 last week. A truck had overturned about a mile up ahead, and so we were forced into the discomfort of mandated stillness. As the air steadily thickened with fumes and irritation, a butterfly appeared, her rhythmic pulse travelling across each lane of traffic as though they were bars of music and she a song. How does a being so light lift the heavy weight of aggrievement with such ease? “It’s all in the wings”, I hear her whisper.