The
woods are always full of sound right before dawn, as each creature seems
needful to acknowledge that day is coming, light is on its way. And it is not just sound but lyrical rhythm--no howling at the sun. And they are all
winged creatures, from the tiniest chirping insect to the largest songbird;
each morning choir member seems to have wings as a prerequisite. What I find dear is that humans reserve our
most sacred spots for winged creatures.
I don’t think it is beyond the realm of possibilities that all creatures
get their wings based more on the Spiritual than the genesis.
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