Winging Toward Destiny

In our house there is a window, wherein a large, leaded glass pane rests on the window sill. Today, I noticed a tiny winged creature had died, its dark body lying on its side, stark against the white of the window sill, its tear shaped wings spread graciously, as though it had died in flight. The feathery etched glass lent an ethereal outline to the small corpse and I felt a thrill as I looked on where the line of life and death had met.

I surmised, “Its time had come”, for it looked as though nothing actually caused its death, no swat or poison or err in judgment. Was it flying around and suddenly fell ill, or did it stop to rest a moment and instead rested eternally?

Now, usually, I don’t pay much mind to bugs dying. I sweep ‘em up and throw ‘em out, and admittedly, I am the cause of death many times.

So, why did this particular little fella bring so much attention upon himself, making me take note and even touching my emotions?

Was it the beauty of the scene? For it was beautiful. The light coming in through the leaded glass, the contrast of dark and light, the perfectly shaped wings in full spread, the body in quiet repose.

I don’t know.

But it made me wonder: when I come to that line where my life meets death, where I begin my second chapter and truly begin to live: will my remains give others pause? Will they wonder if I took wing on the other side as they gaze at my countenance?

I hope when that time comes, my life will have spoken for itself, and there will be no doubts that I am indeed flying, trying out my new wings, basking in The Light, never fearing death ever again.

And I will be beautiful. Because all winged creatures are beautiful, even on this earth. Even in death. Even the tiniest and most insignificant.

Even me.