Sitting under an awning on the periphery of a man made pond, I’m in the company of a swarm of dragonflies.
They twit and twist. They hover, rise, and dive. Imagine watching, not one, but fifteen Tinkerbells.
Without much knowledge of insect anatomy, I guess that their deft maneuvering is because of two sets of wings. Two sets.
I have a moment of jealousy--for a dragonfly, for its two sets of wings.
I'm wishing for two sets of wings.
In the metaphorical sense.
What would it mean to have two sets of wings?
I recently added, in addition to my previous desk, a sentimental desk. The old desk is now an extra space for laying out projects. I have a school made and gifted-to-me, ceramic pen and pencil vase, filled to capacity. Beside it lies a long sheet of paper taped down. It is a canvas with tools waiting to be utilized and created upon.
The new desk is just big enough for a laptop, a monitor, and a keyboard. It serves one purpose and remains uncluttered.
I am fortunate to have two wings/two desks. The possession of both was not expensive nor extravagant. The long desk is recycled kitchen cabinetry and the second, recently-added desk is forty years old--sanded and re-stained to enhance its worn beauty.
Children can be wings or weights. I'm thankful to claim a double bounty of wings.
Two wings, spiritually speaking, include my own common sense and reason and the additional promise of the Holy Ghost. How can I explain such an ethereal blessing? If the reader believes in God-it's easy--because honestly, if one doesn't believe in God, none of it makes sense. Someone near and dear to me recently told me that she doesn't believe in God. "How can you believe in a God when so many bad things happen?" She sincerely asked. I thought to ask, "How can you not believe in God when so many good things happen?" But it was only my job to listen, not reason, push, or explain why I believe in God.
But I do, and therefore, I have two sets of wings.
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