The question they ask about the bat
is, how did he get from this to that? Between the time he was still on ground
and finally flew in air, how did he stay hale and sound, how did he evolve from
here to there, being such an easy prey? How did he last more than a day?
The answer is, he became an awkward
sort of dancer. He began to run with a fanciful skip that was neither a waft
nor a gait, skip-hopping along at a furious clip, an intermediate but
distracting, off-putting trait. No longer treading, still not flying, he pushed
his pinions, bobbing and weaving, rhythmically swaying and heaving, until one
day, with the wind just right, all of a sudden— separation! genuine
lift—flight—the climax of continuous hesitant application.
Moral: Being in-between in life may mean simply—or not so simply—that
you’re on your way.
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