Home was her sacred shelter and like a gypsy, she carried it with her with her everywhere.

All her life she sought smooth, slick surfaces yet mastered the challenge of jagged ones too. Because moisture was essential for movement, she was eternally grateful for the night’s dew. In those damp, marvelous moments of freed motion, contentment flourished as luscious, moonlit landscapes were quietly traversed. Such was the daily rhythm of her fragile life.

When the years slowed and her movement lagged for the last time, she tucked herself safely into her home. With her last breath, she left dreaming of gliding effortlessly.

After many moonlit nights passed and her shell had become but a puff of soft dust, she quietly returned. This time, she did not carry the weight of her sacred shelter on her back. Instead she possessed weightless wings to forever fly home.