Waiting at a stop light

I wait at the stop light. Red. Yes, I should stop. No, I should not continue on. But like so many others I wish to be on my way, I wish to near my destination rather than just stand here like another fool, waiting for that green man that takes forever to appear.

A thought strikes. It is a thought so ridiculous yet so brilliant. What if I could just.. fly over that pesky road? Over the passing cars. Elevated into the air. What if I my shoes were not shoes, but butterflies?

I step into the air then as the threads I never know the name of that are usually used to tie my shoes flutters to life, silent wings in vibrant colours, thin and beautiful like the wings of a butterfly. Another step. Then another. I go higher, and then forward, forward and above those that move beneath.

They stop, those around me, and raise their hands into the air in order to point. I take a pirouette for all those that stare down below, smiling brightly and even allowing some laughter to pass my lips due to that fluttering that resides in my stomach, a fluttering as if butterflies not only shaped those shoes of mine, but also exist in my stomach.

Then I land on the other side, safe and sound.

I continue on my way, acting as if nothing at all came to pass.