I love the whir of the creature come to visit the pink flowers in the hanging basket as she does most August mornings, hours away from starvation to store enough energy to survive overnight. The Aztecs saw the refraction of incident light on wings as resurrection of fallen warriors. In autumn, when daylight decreases they double their body weight to survive the flight across the Gulf of Mexico. On next-to-nothing my mother flew for 85 years; after her death she hovered, a bird of bones and air. Copyright © 2017 Robin Becker. Used with permission of the author. |
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