I discovered this fly beating itself against the kitchen window, trying to get out. I slid open the window (the side without a screen) right next to the fly. Instead of heading out, it froze on the pane. As I took this picture, it swooped away and is now up in the corner of the kitchen, well away from the light and freedom.
How often freedom is close to us, and we avoid it, or are afraid of it, or when it presents itself we’re so surprised we don’t know how to respond? How often are we like that fly? And if we, with our infinitely greater mental capacity and free will, cannot take advantage of an open window in our lives, then what does that say about us?