With Chicken Wings

It was the anniversary of my Dad’s death; he died in 1999 having lived 96 full and beautiful years. For most of the day I smelled incense; scientists say that scent is a powerful memory inducer. I began to stare out my window, thinking of Dad, when I saw...


A flock of birds atop a tree outside my window
they obviously like being together.

They cling to one another visiting, singing, or at times, flitting to a higher branch.
No one bumps into another: they like togetherness, yet they yearn for the freedom of flight.

As a small boy, my Dad had that yearning, too.

With chicken wings tied to his thin shoulders, he climbed the chicken shed and flew down!

He didn’t do well on that flight!

But I love him for the longing in his childhood heart
to soar!

It must be genetic, for I, too, want to fly!
Mine, desires of the heart - but with a heavy body!

Does it make too much of a difference, Lord?

Here I come. . .