Our actions allow for an almost voyeuristic insight into an ever-developing kinship.  A relationship of deep dependancy appropriated through metaphor and a harrowing desire for change.  We draw inspiration from subjective experience which is made more interesting by nothing more than its own potential.  Perhaps honesty is best.  Why do we do the things we do?  What things nurture apathy?  Knowing that our children will be the death of us is not enough.  We have been to the waters edge, allowed our lips a taste, and eagerly began to fill our bellies with greed and passion.  We pause to loosen our belts and it is only in this brief moment of rest that the water is still enough for us to come face to face with an all-devouring slender beaked monster.

*            *            *

The subject will change, it must.  It simply must.  I think back upon this thought...our children will be the death of us, and I can not help but smile when I think that by giving life, we sentence them to death...our very own offspring...what sort of parents are we...

I will arrive in Minneapolis shortly.  It is the 28th day of October 2015.  I finish my coffee before I see him at the bottom of my small paper cup, drenched and unable to move.  I pause for several moments before retrieving his body.  No sooner had he started to dry and beat his wings did he again scale the side of the white cliff and disappear back into what remained of the small pool of warm black water waiting below.  I allow this to sink in before tilting the soggy tomb slightly in an attempt to beach the body...I wedge the vessel at an appropriate angle into the seat pocket in front of me and promptly abandon the plane.  I wish him well.