Broken wings

I always made sure that I got to my spot just in time to watch the sun disappear over the horizon and into the sea. Sitting on cool pebbles, I waited for the spectacle to begin with just the sound of lapping waves and squawking gulls to keep me company.
I knew when it was about to start by the eerie silence that washed over the abandoned pier. I would wait and wait and wait…
Then all at once, they appeared; hundreds of starlings would burst out into the crimson sky and begin to swarm around like bees, weaving in and out of each other as if choreographed by Matthew Bourne himself. Transfixed by their aerial acrobatics, every twist and turn took my breath away. It was a beautiful show, worthy of a standing ovation.
Our own style of flight changes from day to day; Sometimes we glide effortlessly like an eagle, wings spread, riding high on warm currents and a gentle breeze. Other days, like a swallow, we flap manically just to stay aloft through life’s challenges and our wings are left a little battered and bruised. These are the moments in which we think we will never fly again…
But we always do. We were designed that way and can fly with broken wings.