Molting is awkward.
Ugly.
And completely amazing.

When stumbling in awkwardness, I am being asked to understand.
I bow to the learning.
When hiding from my own ugliness, I am being called to love what has been unacceptable.
I bow to Beauty by deepening her definition.

As feathers drop, the wind takes them.
In this lightness,
change.
In this change,
potency.

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