On Wings

No photos today. Visualize, see it in your mind.

There is some quote, I don't know it exactly and found several versions, to the effect that we should give our children roots and wings.

I like the roots part.

Planting, growing, nurturing, pruning, feeding, watering, watching the blossoms unfurl and the fruit develop color.

The wings part, for me, is tough.

Like plucking a dandelion puff, blowing across it, watching the seeds float and drift, land where they will, unwanted weeds.

Like watching a crow sail over the fence in a field just evacuated by a weekend of young campers, stuffing as many Cheetos as it can into its beak and soaring off. Ooops, dropped one. Stop and cram the piece back in with the rest, greedy. And be back in two minutes to claim another mouthful. This was repeated over and over and over while I waited to pick up our camper.

Like a hawk, lazily drifting, floating overhead, watching below, heading nowhere in particular, catching the drifts, circling.

Like a winged seed pod, floating down from the tree, helicoptering, spinning on its wings, circling, descending, catching the wind to wherever.

Like the flashy neon Western Tanager pair in our loquat tree, thriving on the peachy fruit in their pretty, colorful style.

Wings.

Like the mockingbirds with their variety of songs, singing day and night, bossy, chasing, dive bombing other birds out of their claimed territory.

Like the hummingbirds, their wings buzzing, drumming so fast they are a transparent, fairy blur.


Me, the mother. Holding winged creatures in an open palm.

Released, free to go.

Not tight fisted, grasping.

Relaxed, open.

I don't have to give them wings.

They take them.

I'll stick to the roots part, offering them a place to roost as they fly on their ways.


Disclaimer: These examples of wings are not intended to relate to specific children or give examples of the character of specific individuals. They are merely examples of wings I have noticed in the past week.