The wind blows elusive streams of life my way, teasing over me, sprinkles laughing in my hair on my nose, spitting at my toes with pearly grit. Soon I am cocooned by this heavenly gift; I shine on the outside while I hide inside the splendor of my shell. It’s all nice and cozy, then the mutation comes, painful, difficult (what incarnation isn’t?) not pretty at all like my swirling pearly shell. I fumble blindly in half-congealed state but cannot see beyond the fading light — oh, confining womb, I want out! raised is the gossamer wing striking blow after blow against the matted nest; poking with feet and forceful jolt, a tear is made, sunbeams burst in and I drink profusely freedom’s sweet nectar.