The fuzzy little caterpillar wiggled and wobbled its velvet-like backside up the red oak tree branch.

“Whew,” she let out, breathing heavily.  “I’m not cut out for this.  No more.  Please.  I don’t know what else to do, but I know that I can’t keep this up for long.  Now if only I could fly, getting myself places wouldn’t be so difficult.  Come to think of it, if I could fly…if I could fly!…oh, the places I would go and the things I would see!” she blurted out.  And with that, off went her thoughts like the easterly winds as she further excited herself past the point of weariness and finally into a deep, deep sleep.

In the morning, she awoke suddenly to darkness on all sides.  Panicking and punching ferociously, she busted out of the sheath that had so tightly enveloped her.  Finally free, she climbed her way up the shredded encasement and plopped herself onto the branch, her feet clinging to the familiarity of the tree and her heart fluttering from shock.

“What just happened?” she shrieked as she goggled at a body not her own.  She sat there, stunned.  She couldn’t believe what was going on and wanted nothing more than to hideaway from the world until she awoke from this wretched nightmare.  With that, she wiggled and wobbled her way down the branch as she had always done, but this time, it wasn’t how it had always felt.

“What’s going on?” she mumbled repeatedly.

“I don’t understand!”

The formerly fuzzy little caterpillar staggered upon the sun-warmed earth.  She looked for somewhere, anywhere, to hide, but everywhere she went, she couldn’t escape from the overawing figure that had overtaken her soul.  She tried to conceal herself in the shadows.  She tried to cover herself with twigs, leaves, and anything else she could find, though the enormous protrusions on her back made it impossible to blend in.

Exposed and utterly confused, she lay there in the open.  Tears of frustration gathered at the bottom of her eyes.  She blinked.  And in the stillness of sunup, down poured a torrent of tears, while her mind raced wildly back and forth between “what happened?” and “why me?”

As she began to run out of tears, she steadied her breathing and began to take notice of the building winds.  They felt soothing to her wet cheeks.

“I don’t know if things are ever going to be the same again, but I’m sure everything is going to be okay,” she half assuredly, half doubtfully told to herself.  “Everything is going to be okay.”

And everything was…for the next minute until there went those blasted protrusions  (the ones she didn’t even ask for!), picking up the wind underneath them!

Up, up, and away she went, far, far and away from everything that she had ever known!  Enervated and seemingly not even breathing anymore, the formerly fuzzy little caterpillar had nothing left.  She couldn’t fight it anymore.  She didn’t want to fight it anymore.  It was over.  She was giving up.  She would forever lie where the wind chose to take her.

And with that doleful resignation, she unclenched every tense, taut, and tight part of her body, mind, and soul and gave it up to the wind—ready to meet her end…

…and as a result,

…for the very first time,

…she began to truly fly.

—–

What I learned over my summer vacation:  The act of flying must first begin with the possibility of falling.