Cocooned in leaves, wrapped like fresh caught fish, woven into casings by the zig zag zipped silken spinnings of grace, here we curl up and die, and wait for new life. Here we lie and dream of spacious places where our feet will soon be set, whilst the world sees only a fresco of shallow caves, grave in their claustrophobic smallness. Inside, our wings form and we fly, my brothers, my sisters, we fly!
© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016
Photo from Pixabay
