Shed

Of course my wings have always made me feel different from the others. Most children are born with just two arms and legs, but with my additional two long glistening luminous green wings draping down the back of my shoulders I knew I stood out from the crowd.

It was fortunate that I was able to shed them each autumn or I would have had difficulty getting caught up in those strong winter winds. And yet, each spring, with a little itching from the center of my back, out they would grow once more. By age eight they would grow so long that they would drag lightly across the grass and I had to be careful getting them folded under me when getting into cars or elevators.

The wings made for a joyous childhood full of midnight flights and celebrations with the fireflies on warm summer nights.

Although only children tend towards loneliness and boredom, I could always break free and take flight from suburbia to visit the mountains or the lakes with the wind in my hair and my friends were every sort of feathered airborne creature. What romps we all had together.

Eventually though, I seemed to fly less and less. The call to simply sit quietly in the sunlight was increasingly appealing until late one summer day I found my wings were shedding early and I strongly felt the call of the adolescent cocoon. My youth was passing and it was time to taste the next adventure.

Junior High would have been easier with my wings.