Moonbrim
Fold and the Glide Only He Could Fly
Fold longed to fly as high and fast as the big jets overhead, until a gentle fall taught him his own quiet kind of flying. A soft bedtime story about worth that does not need to be loud.
Fold watched huge jets thunder far above. A soft crease and blue stripe showed care. Fold launched himself toward the open sky.
Higher and higher, chasing the big jets. His nose dipped, and the climb ended. Down he spiraled, smaller than before.
He was sure he was not real. Quiet and small, he waited there alone. A small hand found him in the grass.
Careful fingers smoothed his wings back flat. She let him go into the warm wind. Fold glided slow, soft, and free.
Home again, glad for his own flying.
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