A Tale of Two: Kamikaze Wings
I drove a flamingo to the
perceived edge of the world to see if we would fall off. We did not end. Our journey continued past the red-buoyed
warnings, my legs pedaling, wishing they were wings. Air is so much easier to traverse than water,
less natural resistance. The sleek pink
giant offered no assistance or caution, just willingly worked its wave through
the waves.
I grew tired after awhile, but
the stoic expression of my voyage companion motivated me. Unreasonable defiance was my stick. I would find a way to wipe that
Mona-Lisa-Know-It-All-Grin off its beak if I had to build a sandblaster. I pedaled harder, my legs no longer
registering feeling. My muscles became
liquid as the water that tried to force us back to a beginning that was no
longer in sight. Hours passed. Then days, weeks. Time lost all meaning as did trivial
terminology like pain and progress.
Suddenly we struck land. An expanse of sand sideswiped us. (Focus too had abandoned us eons ago). I wanted to get out, give up on this mission
of migration, but the bird was still flipping me its accusatory grin, and my
legs no longer believed solid belonged beneath their feet. Sitting there in the spotlight of another
morning’s sun, I suddenly understood we had already survived one pre-destined
mythical death. Encouraged, I turned my feathered vessel around, pointed
collective minds toward the celestial body that burned.
We took off at a different pace,
intent on flight. This time our journey
would be about height, not distance.
Both of us were curious to see how high we could get before something
started to melt.
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