THAT is the stuff of life.
Complex molecules and proteins,
Building an unseen structure...
Which will crawl, or walk, or fly- some day.
The goo is actually sacred.
Perhaps not holy, but sinless thus far.
A sticky, salty, slush which perpetuates life.
Including the eggs which the fox consumed~
Wriggling in my own cocoon-
Becoming a butterfly is fine enough,
But I'd rather be a bird of prey-
Terror of the sky, AND the maker of a warm feathered nest.
My outer shell is hardening.
The goo dissipates as the structure inside is almost completed.
Breaking out is a struggle.
The "stuff of life" has made me who I am~
And staying put is not an option. Not if I intend to soar~
And I do.