I have noticed that for the past few months I seems to be preoccupied with wings. Bird wings, butterfly wings.... it really doesn't matter. I find myself reading documents, prose and poetry, that all somehow end up mentioning wings or speak of flight. I sense this is the beginning of a movement for me. A progression in to the next stage of......( drum rolls...)...... I'm not sure what. That I honestly can't see the direction of where I will end up seems anti-climactic, I can only hope that keeping with the symbolism of wings and flight, it can only be.... up.
