Red Sky in the Morning

Determined, he stands at the edge of the pool, his early morning shadow reflected in indigo water.
Arms splayed behind him, shoulder blades touching, he pauses, a flightless bird. Silhouetted against the blush horizon, parasols guard his efforts from prying eyes.
In his mind he soars, in reality he flops and emerges from the rippled water wounded, his wings clipped and torso stinging.
Not a worm in sight.