Warm and protected, safe inside, I lack all worry, fear and responsibility. I curl around my very self and sleep a perfect sleep. But not for long. A faint stirring troubles my heart and soul and wakens what has lain dormant-asleep-unborn for how long?

The time of gestation is done; the moment of birthing is near. It’s a dangerous business birthing another; it’s terrifying to give birth to oneself. What if it doesn’t go well and I’m not fully formed? Suppose I emerge from this sanctuary only to be instantly caged by fate? I resist the urge to stretch, to push against the walls of what has been my haven, but instinct is powerful. I tap tentatively, desperate for an answer of certainty but none comes. I scratch feebly with my nails then claw and kick until I am free.

Surrounded by shards of debris I am higher than my mind could ever have imagined. I perch on the edge of a cliff, in the midst of a snow-capped mountain range, extend my wings, catch a thermal. . . . . . . and soar!

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