Wings

To be able to fly high above the clouds on gossamer wings. To marvel at everything below.  The beauty of a mirrored lake, to follow a meandering stream.  The regimented path of an interstate highway marching out is site.  Swinging up, the golden rays of the sun warming your face.  The gentle breezes pushing you along.  Mesmerized by the trees growing in tight clumps. Like if you traced them carefully, from dot to dot God’s great image would emerge.

But to fly so high is not meant to be.  We search for things beyond our limits.  The air grows thin and the mind plays tricks.  Leaving you giddy for greater altitude.  It exhilarates, thrills, the blood pumps faster!!  But little do you realize it isn’t for the excitement , but for your survival.  

You soar so high and lose yourself and plummet to the ground.  We were not born with wings, we should not endeavor so.