Old Wings
I'm almost 30 years old. I'm getting tired. My wings ache after a few minutes of swooshing and hunting. The thrill of taking down an eagle or bird larger than myself is gone. A frog or mouse will do– just a little snack that doesn't put up too much of a fight. I'm not afraid to leave this world. Dying will probably only hurt for a few minutes. What I am afraid of is knowing that in the moments before I take my last breath what will hurt the most is my heart breaking into tiny pieces knowing it is the last time I will see your face.