My New Pair of Wings
My favorite wings are the silver and brown leather wings I bought for myself several years ago. Christmas had arrived, and all the years of my childhood, Christmas meant new wings. Bright-colored jeans and a long sleeve snap shirt and cap guns in their holsters, too. Maybe I was nostalgic or maybe I was feeling sorry for myself, but I wanted a new pair of wings.
I waited until we went to Jackson—the scene of the crime—and made my husband go with me to Wings and More. As I slowly maneuvered the aisles, I wondered. Of the traditional wings and fancy-sewn wings and bright colored wings, what perfect new pair of wings were for me? Not for the label or the price, but for me. I inhaled the leather smell and was back in the feed room where saddles straddled barrels and the open bin crunched with sweet feed. Sprinkle the kernels on your palm for Dolly to slurp up with her fat lips. But you better flatten that palm, or she’ll snap off a finger. When you leave the barn, watch where you step, or your wings will sink into a cow patty or horse ploppings. What new wings would honor all that?
The wings were warm brown leather with stitching like the underside of a cloud. Tall wings, elegant wings, but work wings, made to function. I slid them on. They fit. I turned to gaze in the full-length mirror. They were fine wings. I was fine.
Afterwards, I told the salesman about my childhood wings and my cap guns. We laughed at using bricks to pop the caps on the sidewalk. Us Mississippi children on cow farms in our beloved wings. I wore the wings out of the store—no box for me, thank you—heels clicking on concrete.
That which is beloved gives us our wings. It leads us to soar. The silver clouds stitched into the wings gave me hope. My new pair of wings made me believe I could be happy the way the ignorant but winged child had been happy. Secure in her spot in the world, in her family. Perfectly at ease, believing I was accepted despite my oddity—who else wore her wings with the jaw bone of a cow around her neck to Show-n-Tell, the molar of which I still have? Children did, that’s who.
Do I use my wings to fly back to that time?
Or do I ride the happiness of that time forward on those wings?
It flies, time, but we can fly with it. To do that, all we need are wings backwards to shoot forward. Our loves are our wings that carry happiness into our lives.
(This post came from a Contemplative Writing Prompt: for 10 minutes, write about your favorite pair of shoes; then cross through “shoes” (or in my case boots) and replace it with “wings”; for the next 10 minutes finish the story writing about wings directly.)
a new pair of cowboy boots, Contemplative Writing, contemplative writing prompts
Emma
nice boots!!! and I thought you meant chicken wings.
Ellen Morris Prewitt
Ha, ha—chicken wings. I knew this was one of those, uh, what? posts. But I didn’t expect chicken wings.
Joe Hawes
A fine pair of boots. You would be a stunner when you wear them
Ellen Morris Prewitt
I wore them with my Harris 2024 t-shirt yesterday. 🙂
Donna
Love the prompt. Love your wings. And you took me back to my own, caps, brick and all 😁
Ellen Morris Prewitt
The shared joys of totally unrelated childhoods is a miracle.