Today She Learned To Fly... - Michael Angelo Gagliardi

Watercolor pencil and crayon on paper
18"x 12"
 
Go Into the Light
by Mallory M. O’Connor
​
“Go into the Light,” she said. “It’s there for you.”
But it wasn’t that easy, was it?
Maybe I wasn’t as ready to let go as I had thought. 
Suddenly, there were a million things holding onto me—people, places, ideas. My cat. Yes, the light was beautiful and yes, I could feel its pull. But I resisted. Clenched my teeth. Stiffened my arms. 
 
The wind whipped through my hair like a solar storm, and I was lifted out of my body and flung into the vortex. My nightgown flared out behind me like a cape. 
It was then that I remembered:
 
I am seven years old, and I am riding in the back seat of my parent’s Plymouth. It is twilight. I get up on my knees and look out the back window. The valley is spread out all the way to the western horizon where the wavy blue line of the Coast Range marks the edge of the world. The landscape is soft, covered with a lavender haze. A few lights blink on like stars.
But then, I feel myself moving slowly up into that twilight sky. The horizon bends as I rise higher and higher until I can see the whole earth before me—an exquisite crystal orb. And there is no line between us. I am one with the earth. And the sky. And the eternity of space. 
I look once more at the light, and I no longer want to resist its magnetic pull. I remember now where I am.
I am going home.