the open cage

"Fly, fly away!" squealed Kaitlyn gaily as she opened the cold, metal cage where her grey pigeon was resting. The pigeon didn't move. "Come on, flap your wings, little birdie!" she urged.

Nearby, her careful mother kept Kaitlyn constantly within her sight. She was a good parent, spending hours with her child each day, not a few minutes like other parents. Kaitlyn's mother knew the importance of the relationship between her and her six-year old.

"Mommy, why won't the bird fly?"

"I don't know, dear. Why don't you leave it though and come play with your new Slinky? The bird probably just wants to sleep," responded her mother in the gentlest voice she could conjure up; she knew that the bird was not alive. But how could she expose this little innocent girl--her baby Kay-- to such a profound concept as death? Why smother the untainted joy in her soul?

For this same reason, Kaitlyn didn't know that her father, too, was dead. Her mother was, well, protecting her. Kaitlyn would learn one day, she decided, and that would be that. But unforeseen to her mother, that day would come far, far too soon.

---
it's peculiar, sometimes I write something, and then place meaning to it. my intentions just magically appear, but they often seem to be nothing more than an after thought.

it is rather frustrating really, but perhaps I really started with the intentions of making what I write to mean this or that-- except it originated as a subconscious thought. or even that someone is writing through me. wow sorry that thought just sent a chill through my spine.

I guess I don't often know where my inspirations or thoughts even live sometimes, I can't pinpoint them, but when they surface I appreciate them so much.

enough to share them with you.