Twenty-one: Birdtribe

I was born believing I could fly. Seriously. I used to run, near naked, down a steep concrete drive, arms outstretched, hour after hour. At three, my knees and elbows were chronically covered in scabs from failed attempts. I never once considered that I couldn’t fly. I was certain that my incapacity to lift off was due to an insufficiency of belief. I knew, with my whole being, that I could fly if only I could stop believing, as others did, that I couldn’t. It took years of gravity induced reasoning to convince me otherwise. And I’m still inclined to wonder on days like today, when my heart is heavy and my eyes turn heavenward. Then, for a thrilling moment I feel that familiar updraft beckoning my flightless form toward the clouds.