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[personal profile] devi
Years ago, she made me a bird - a new, roughly-forged nugget of metal, amoebic, stylised. It was a seagull from one angle and a hawk from another. She smiled, a white flash in her sooty face. Fly, she said.

Now it's time for me to give the bird back, with its slippery unformedness, its lack of detail. I flew, and I've thought long and hard about what I found here, powered by this lump of ore. But it's not a finished product.

I'm the raw material. I have what I need in my head and my heart. But I need a spark from outside to take it further. It wasn't enough to fly from where I was and to gather experience like a magpie. Now I have to reforge it, and I don't know where to start. I'll need help.

I stretch out my arms. The familiar, comforting weight of the metal bird nestles on my palms. She watches, waiting. Opening my hands, I give it up, this much-welcomed gift I've come to love. I can't do this alone.

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