Dragonfly Pentacost

 

 


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•  photo-montage by aleXander hirka ~ text by T. Remington •

I dart. We dart and we all peer down at you. Fleshy, grinning and, it would appear, completely ignorant of our adornments; a crowd of happy imbeciles. Poor, earthbound, heavy and stuck. We hover above and offer gifts. Horned, both you and we, but where we are winged, you are legged. Where we soar and shimmer and do gravity one better, you are pinned tight. We feel so sorry for you and would offer more than fine head-dressings, but really what would you do with wings?  You strut and shine and show off the horns you all sport now, poking and curving and meaning nothing. Meanwhile we dart above you and you cannot hear our laughter. You wave and shout, bowing and dipping finely ornate heads that could count for a beginning, a first sprouting of something magical.  But really we cannot in good conscience waste the brilliance of free flight on the likes of you.  You would never, not in your wildest dreams, be ready to be birthed to the new day of rising into the wind.

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