Soft-Feathered Wings

I need to be reminded, sometimes hourly, without question daily, that life is beautiful.
Symmetry and balance exist. In the finger-snap of a moment,
you float above reality and reflection, stretched long in the
first few flaps of your soft-feathered wings.
You do not fly. That is an effort between gravity and grace.
You rise.
You rise above muted reflections, beyond distortions,
into creation’s sustaining breath. And then you are gone
while I sit on a patch of barren earth, trying to get
a knot out of my shoelaces.