–my creative writing class is embarking on a series of writings called “child’s play.” The idea is that, as we get older, we lose boldness in our creativity because we fear embarrassment, rejection, or ridicule from those that we share our ideas with. For the first assignment, we went outside on a near perfect spring day, and bedded down in the grass, to gaze at clouds (like you used to when you were a kid). The goal was to watch the clouds, find one that stood out, and create a story based on the shape/movement of the cloud. Here is my contribution:
The firebird glided with the ease of a butterfly, one week old, having already emerged from its cocoon, and oblivious to a not too distant death, gazed and searched my cataracted eyes, to see if what I believe, who I am, and what I do, match up with what the sceptics say I’m not, the hypocrites preach what I won’t, and the wise men have learned what I haven’t yet, or will it rest on my arm, defend to the death my liberty to see things the way that they really are, comprehend the mysteries of the things above and the things below, or protect me from a devil that corrupts my view of a broken world, a shameless self, and a prideful approach to what I believe is mine, what will be mine, and what will never be yours? Or, is it that the firebird comes to remind me, that as I get older, I’ll become more influential, stretched, and recognized by so many eyes, because my vision of the heavens is higher than most?