Posted on 09. Jan, 2012 by Brandon Evans
On a gray Sunday I stood next to an ancient oak tree. Leaning closely I noticed a cocoon buried deep in the fissures of the rough bark. Stowed away like a passenger on some oak-hulled ship, a creature slowly takes shape inside. Although it never moves, the winged animal will take first flight in a new world. New due to the season. New due to it’s vantage above the chaotic limbs and foliage, foliage now decaying in the dirt below.
The gray sky hung low. Bulls bellowed in a pasture. The air grew colder as the shrouded sun sank behind a veil of clouds.
I peered closer into the barks in the fissure looking for more cocoons. I saw a lot. But many looked like they’d been there for years. They’d lost the fresh white webbing. They’d faded to brown and gray and tan. For unknown reasons they never matured. Like a great idea never realized they never got to take flight.