dainty wings

Posted on Tuesday, January 27, 2015

It is a morning where even sunlight is too tired to wake. Not quite dawn, he tucks his bright sun-face behind the sheets of clouds as if masking himself from his duties of his endless days. It is a morning where I now decide I would have changed the night before, cupping my hands around the walls of a warm teacup instead of a the stem of hefty glass of wine, I should have fallen asleep two hours earlier, instead of choosing a few more moments awake, alone.


It is a morning, I imagine, in some distant northern state, where white clouds are dropping dust-light flakes to the ground. Though here, the earth is bare and brown, we too see bleak skies. It is a morning I wake with dainty wings reluctantly building their courage to open. Were I to wake alone and much later, I’d miss morning mists, honking of horns quick to park in designated spaces for the remainder of the day, and the greetings of robins, sparrows, chickadees and the like. I’d miss the blending of crayon colored skies adjusting into solid hues. I do not wake alone, but with my dear one in my arms, his hay-colored hair whispering into my ear. His teddy bear body nestled against me, his blue jay eyes kissing everything they see.


He waves his miniature hand and looks up for the sky that is unseen through closed curtains. Only the transition from dark to light slightly seeps through. “T” he pronounces, his word for “light.” Yes,” I say, “that is the light. It’s a new day. Good morning world,” I say, and he hops off the bed. He runs from room to room, into his, the one that houses books, soft animals and an unused bed, and then back into mine where I, like the sun, burrow deep into gray sheets, hesitant and slowly making my way upright.


I want to snooze his tiny head and tuck myself back into peaceful dreams. I want just five more minutes to feel the hush of closed eyes. But I rise, moving towards him and sing in earnest, “Good morning my love, good morning my love, it’s going to be a beautiful day,” the way families in the trees greet one another as they fluff their thick feathered coats. Mind waking, I accept this new day. I make my way toward the rising light and open the blinds. Refreshed by my darling’s dancing heart, my wings spread open. He tucks his into mine, then distances himself, as together we flutter down the hall.


What will

our children do in the morning?

Will they wake with their hearts wanting to play,

the way wings


Will they have dreamed the needed flights and gathered

the strength from the planets that all the men and women need to balance

the wonderful charms of

the earth

so that her power and beauty does not make us forget our own?

I know about all the ways of the heart – how it wants to be alive.

Love so needs to love

that it will endure almost anything, even abuse,

just to flicker for a moment. But the sky’s mouth is kind,

its song will never hurt you, for I

sing those words.

What will our children do in the morning

if they do not see us




“The Way Wings Should” by Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Balkhī (Rumi)

in Love Poems from God Translated by Daniel Ladinsky

feature image provided by Brooks Shane Salzwedel


  1. Lovely! Also the rumi poem….also your perky prose so wild and juicy! This was what I first read with eager hands embracing the tea cup this morning

    • Thank you for joining me during your morning, and for your kind compliments. I enjoy a morning cup of chai. What is your tea of choice these days? Blessings to you!

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