“I died on a bitter cold night. Beneath a black sky and a bruised winter moon, I tried to fly, hoping my arms might act as wings.”

“If I had the wings of a swan, over these stony hills I would fly. I would fly to the arms of my true love, and there I'd be happy to die.”

“Tonight the sky was utterly black. Perhaps there was no moon tonight—a lunar eclipse, a new moon. A new moon. I shivered, though I wasn't cold.”

“The birds fly south for the winter not because it’s cold, but because they have wings. Similarly, love has the ultimate flight pattern, and that pattern is plaid.”

“I never realized that the blue sky I saw was not the soft, nurturing sky of spring, but the cold, chilling, lonely sky of winter”

“They open their wings, flash patterns and color, fly from flower toflower. I, with the dark brittles and many feet of the former form, inchalong the ground.Sometimes all I want is two armfuls of air, a fistful of sky.”