The Women Who Fly

The women who fly took me to the depths of my feelings and then allowed me to soar above the clouds with them as we found our own peace.

out as traditional quilts and then turned into abstracts. I had an opportunity to explore a lot of different colors that helped tell the story of the personalities, even Nina Simone’s Mississippi Goddam got into the mix. I loved writing about her because I was so very familiar with the anguish that went along with the Civil Rights movement. Annell Ponder was my cousin on the front line of many of those marches and jail time. I sat right at my Aunt’s feet as she worried about Annell’s well-being.

More dancers ended up in the series than any other occupation. I don’t know if it is because I love to dance or if the dancers just came forth as our mechanism for letting go of frustration. I studied butterfly wings because I thought they were more apropos than bird wings since the butterfly goes through a stage of developing it’s wings. We, women, go through our stages of developing our own wings and ability to soar beyond our circumstances. The beauty and the different nuances in the wings clearly spoke to our distinctions.

The first quilt I made in the series ended up being the last story that I wrote. I kept asking her to tell me her story and nothing but the blank quilt stared back at me. After I finished with everyone else, she quietly said, “I had two great loves in my life.” Really, where do I go with that? What does that mean and is there a story of pain behind those loves, before those loves, after those loves? What? That little tidbit did not help me any. I kept working and looking over at the quilt, knowing that the story would have to come to me soon because my closing deadline was quickly approaching.

Then one morning I woke up and I knew the whole story. I knew her pain, I knew all her children, I knew the men she had loved and I knew how she got her wings. Subconsciously, I knew why women had wings and she said, “Only Women Have Wings.”

Book excerpt: “Mom opened the door and I dove into her arms. I jumped at that hug before I knew it. She was not usually a hugger. She gave back a halfhearted hug. It didn’t take me long to come to my senses and remember where I was. I let go slowly.


“I was someone else in my new life. I was loved by my friends and family. I had forgotten this terrible place with its cold glaring accusatory walls staring at me. I forgot that we didn’t exchange hugs or show any other sign of caring.”


I hope you will give this book a chance to delight you, make you laugh, make you cry and connect with you on some deeper level. Hug your mom, hug your sister, hug your friend, hug your daughter, your co-worker and maybe even a stranger. Who knows maybe we can be the healing in the world that we dream of.